Harry Potter and the Daughter of the Veil
by Amora de Bella
Summary: A tear rolled down his face quickly followed by a second, but he didn’t continue. He didn’t let go. He truly was a mess. Harry Potter: The-Boy-Who-Couldn’t–Stop-Crying. Sorrow clutched him in place of his joy. His Hermione. He tainted her. "I love you."
1. Remus' Tale

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, etc...

This takes place in the Trio's 6th Year loves. thank you.

**

* * *

**

**Harry Potter and the Daughter of the Veil**

_Chapter 1: Remus' Tale_

* * *

She wanted to die. That was the only comprehensive thought that flashed through the young girls mind. No adjective in invention could ever describe the torture of the Cruciatus Curse, and that seemed to please her attacker judging from the woman's insane cackling. Death would be nice. No pain and no suffering. However her antagonizer just wouldn't end her pain, and would heal her only to break her once more. It was simply unbearable; this cycle of pain and healing. Yes, death would be nice. 

As the curse was cut off she remained plastered to the floor, where she had fallen upon the casting of the hex, and continued to sob freely. She only ceased in her cries to empty the meager contents of her stomach upon the stone and dirt floor beneath her weary body. She gradually calmed down to a soft whimper and listened as her attacker began to speak. "You really shouldn't fight me child." the woman reasoned. "It will only cause you more pain, and I'm just not sure that your young, frail body can take this any longer. We can't have you dying on us now, can we?" the woman then executed her question with a swift kick to the girls ribcage and laughed maniacally once she cried out in pain.

"You know this could all be avoided if you simply agree to join the Dark Lord in his quest. You'll be honored and revered as one of the greatest witches of all time. Why prolong this agony? Why fight your destiny; you were born for one purpose and one purpose alone, to serve the Dark Lord and to aid in his glory. You can do such great things, yet you insist on denying your birthright."

The woman paced in front of the helpless child with a burning fury smoldering deep within the irises of her mesmerizing eyes. She knelt down to her prey's level and held out her right arm, proudly displaying her Mark for the child too see. "Now I will ask you once again; will you submit yourself to the service of the Dark Lord? Will you give yourself mind, body, soul, and magic up to the greatest wizard of all time?" The young girl gasped dragging the air around her into her burning lungs and looked up from her place on the grimy floor only to have her head fall back onto her pulsating limbs. She waited a moment, mindful of her hostess' short temper, and still said nothing. "Well," the woman screeched, her patience growing thin, "what do you say you wretched girl?"

The girl gathered all of her strength and rose to her hands and knees while looking up into eyes that mirrored her own. Biting back taunting words; she cleared her dry throat and was clearly heard to say one word.

"_Never_."

* * *

Far away, at No. 12 Grimmauld Place, a young boy by the name of Harry Potter woke with a start. Shivering from the cold sweat brought on by his nightmare, the lad gazed up at the ceiling and slowly returned to consciousness. Feeling sick he ran toward the bathroom and emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet. Once his nausea subsided he frowned upon remembering that the girl in his dream had done the same. After cleaning himself up he walked back into his room only to jump at hearing a very loud snore from one Ronald Weasley. Laughing to himself he opened their bedroom door and quietly headed down the staircase into the kitchen to fill his now empty stomach. 

Once he had settled himself with a sandwich at the kitchen table he began to think back on the nightmare he had just experienced; he felt that it was far too real for it to have been simply a dream. It was almost like he had felt her pain. Thinking back on her face he felt his heart tug as if he had met the poor girl before, only to shake his head upon realizing that he had not. She had looked as if that one Cruciatus wasn't the first she had been put through, and from the answer she gave he was certain it wasn't to be the last.

At that thought he was filled with panic. If he was right and his hellish nightmare hadn't been a dream; the girl was in immediate danger. What if the woman killed her? He jumped up from his place at the table and quickly ran up the stairs to the bedroom of Remus Lupin, who was now staying at Grimmuald Place in light of Sirius' death less than a year ago. Pounding on the door in a blind panic, Harry screamed for Remus to wake up while in the process rousing the ever pleasant portrait of the long-deceased Mrs. Black as well as the entire Order; minus those not residing at Headquarters.

Once Remus opened his door Harry launched into a frenzied account of his dream all while demanding that they find the girl before her ultimate demise. Seeing the young boy near blue in the face from lack of air, Remus placed a firm hand over the ranting teenagers mouth and kindly asked, "Harry what is going on? It is three in the morning, can this wait?" Calming down Harry finally noticed the crowd he had attracted, and then grew rather somber.

"I had a dream," he said, "and it involved Voldemort." Upon hearing his statement the members of the Order of the Phoenix flew into a frenzy; some running to contact fellow members while others gathered downstairs and waited for when Harry could further explain.

After the entire Order had assembled, and after Molly Weasley had sent her youngest children back to bed, Harry found himself seated in an uncomfortable high-backed chair facing the tired group before him. Taking several calming breaths his eyes sought out the ever kind twinkle of one Albus Dumbledore. Upon finding the wizard in attendance Harry felt at ease, almost as if he knew the girl was safe. Encouraged by his lupine friend he repeated his earlier statement and listened as the members of the Order began to chatter about the situation amongst themselves, leaving him no space to explain the dream or to voice his fears.

Harry began to grow frustrated and felt that he was soon to erupt, but was spared the energy as Professor Dumbledore cast a room-wide Silencing Charm. As each member realized that their mouths could not create their desired sounds they collectively faced the elder and waited for an explanation. "We have all gathered here at this hour for one purpose, but I fear that your gossip and theories have prohibited young Harry from telling us exactly how his dream involved Lord Voldemort." he paused and refrained from rolling his eyes as a collective shudder rolled through the room at their adversaries title, and with a smile on his wrinkled face he continued, "So if you would all be so kind as to listen I will gladly remove the charm." The seasoned wizard glanced around the room as heads nodded in agreement. Smiling he lifted his wand and fulfilled his promise all while turning to look at the Boy-Who-Lived for an explanation.

Harry gave the old man a nod in thanks and looked toward his bare feet. A few minutes elapsed as he gathered the story and tried to find the proper way to voice everything that he saw, everything that he felt. Taking a deep breath he heaved a great sigh and began his tale.

"I was off in the corner of a room and there was a girl, no older than me, screaming at the top of her lungs in searing pain. I tried to go to her, to help her, but all of a sudden I felt as if I were being stabbed repeatedly by a thousand knives all over my body. It seemed like it wouldn't stop, and I remember hearing a voice in my head praying for death, welcoming it. I heard footsteps and noticed another person in the room with her wand directed at the girl. She bore the Dark Mark on her right forearm and appeared almost giddy at the girls pain" he stopped to release a strangled breath and continued.

"I watched as she lifted her wand up, and felt the pain stop. I looked over to the girl and heard her become physically sick on the floor. She soon collapsed onto the cold ground. The spell left her as weak as I had felt. I could feel tears running down my face and noticed that the girl was sobbing. Once again I tried to comfort her, but could not move. As she quieted down the Death Eater began to talk. She began telling her that it was a shame to do these things to her, that the girl's death wouldn't be beneficial to them. I watched as she kicked the girl in the ribs and I soon doubled over in pain. She laughed and the sound made my very soul cringe. She said that it could all be avoided if the girl would just join with Voldemort." The shudder from before once again circulated throughout the room.

"She said that the girl was born for one reason, "_to serve the Dark Lord and to aid in his glory", _that the girl was just fighting her destiny. After a few seconds she asked her if she would surrender to Voldemort. For a bit I feared that the girl was dead until she started to move. She looked up at the woman and I felt as if my thoughts were racing with so many memories; familiar yet foreign to my mind. Frightening while calming me simultaneously. Then it stopped. I lost the odd connection that we shared. Had I been there I would have begged her to surrender; I had felt her pain and her heartache, but now I didn't know what she was going to say. After a moment she looked into the Death Eater's eyes and cleared her throat. Once again I felt the action, but I still couldn't tell what she would say. She looked as if she was steeling herself for a final blow, and then she told the woman "_Never."_ After that I woke up."

As he ended his story he took in several calming breaths and looked toward the kindly man seated in front of him; only to find a burning in his eyes. Glancing around the room he noticed a similar look on most of its inhabitants faces. They seemed to be lost in a long forgotten rage. It frightened him, but the worst look was on the face of his friend and former teacher; Remus looked positively murderous.

"The Mark was on her _right_ arm you said?" Nymphadora Tonks asked. Harry looked at the woman with a shocked expression on his face. He had just told them of a young girl in danger and all that they could ask him was where the Dark Mark on her attackers arm was positioned!

He scoffed. "I hardly see why that matters Tonks, there is a girl probably about to be murdered and you want to know where the Death Eater had her Mark!" Harry's voice grew in volume with each word. His anger at the situation was unfairly directed toward the young Metamorphagus. He was sure that the poor girl was close to death.

Dumbledore, seeing Harry's growing impatience, calmed his fury and attempted to soothe the young boy. "She only asks that Harry, because that is unusual. Death Eaters generally have the Dark Mark on their left arm. What did the woman look like? Do you remember? Any distinguishing characteristics, any scars? Or maybe a clue as to where the girl was? We will help her but first we have to know who this girl is, why they have her, and where she might be. Knowing the Death Eater's identity might help." Harry, being calmed at the headmaster's kind tone and honesty, began to think back on the woman he had seen in his dream.

Once he looked past her poisonous tone and hollowed features he realized that she had most likely been quite pretty in her youth. Certainly not striking, as her features seemed fairly commonplace. Brown curls, petite frame, slightly pointed nose, and a hollowed face that had probably been rounded in her youth. All appeasing qualities, but nothing special. She seemed like an ordinary beauty; until you saw her eyes. Thinking back he suppressed a shiver as he remembered the pure venom in the endless depths. They were what made her so beautiful, even as lack of sleep and nutrition made her other features fade. She would have been enchanting; had her eyes not held promise of death and despair.

"She had the most...intense eyes I had ever seen" he said carefully. "They were so blue, that they were almost black. When she laughed at the girls pain you could see a burst of silver in them. And they were so..they were almost...," Harry paused for a moment in an attempt to find the right word for the eyes he had seen on the deranged woman; only to find his sentence finished for him.

"Magical."

Hearing the word he looked up and saw the fury still remained in his former teacher's eyes. Harry thought for a moment and then asked his friend and mentor, "Remus how did you know the word I was looking for?" The werewolf closed his eyes and simply walked away from the crowd and moments later the sound of glass shattering and a loud curse was heard from the kitchen. Harry, shocked at Remus' reaction, looked around the room and saw the same hateful looks on the faces of the majority of Order members. He looked to his left and heard Professor McGonagall muttering to herself about evil harlots with the same look of pure hate upon her generally boisterous features.

Wondering why his dream sparked such a reaction from his elders he took a deep breath in and asked why the womans eyes made Remus so upset. The room grew as quiet as death and looked toward the kitchen. Arthur Weasley moved to collect Remus, only to find him standing in the doorway. The room stood still. Every member of the Order looked to the angered man that stood before them, awaiting an explosion. Even those who held the same questions in their eyes as Harry could sense the hate and anguish rolling off of the last Marauder.

"Her eyes were always her most distinguishing feature" he said, with a laugh that lacked any warmth and happiness. "People would talk about her without even knowing her name. She was the girl with 'magical eyes', and she should have died long ago." Harry cringed at the pure venom that escaped from his friends mouth.

"But why do you hate her? Was she a Death Eater from the first war?" Harry inquired.

Molly Weasley, though normally against giving the children of the house any information was surprisingly the one to answer the boy. She shook her head and with a deep frown upon her face gave him her reply, "No, Harry, she wasn't a Death Eater during the first war. We thought her allegiances laid with us, and that is why she was a member of the Order. She joined not too long after her graduation along with her elder sister and brother." Mrs. Weasley stopped and seemed to be lost in a memory.

Harry looked toward Remus and as he didn't understand his earlier sentiments asked, "Remus, if she is an Order member why do you want her dead? Why does her being alive make you so angry?" The elder man simply stood at the window and looked outside, as if the woman would simply appear in front of the window pane to pay for the crimes Remus must feel she committed.

Seeing that the werewolf wouldn't answer the boy, Kingsley Shacklebolt attempted to further explain the woman's impact. "Her name was Danielle," he sighed, "and she was never truly a member of the Order. She had an older brother and sister who were dedicated to the Order and to their fellow members. She--"

Kingsley found himself cut off by a rather sorrowful comrade, and simply allowed him to continue; knowing he knew more than any of them about her crimes. "She attended Hogwarts with James, Sirius, and I. She was a year younger than the three of us, and a Slytherin, so we never really knew much about her until later. During our seventh year she apparently grew into her features so her eyes weren't the only enchanting things about her, and Sirius was quite taken with her. Like every other bloke in the school. Being the ladies man he was he simply had to have her, but we graduated before he could even attempt to get close to her. The next time that we saw her she had joined the Order and was training with Madam Pomfrey to be a Mediwitch. She was so sweet and, Sirius just couldn't help but fall in love. We all couldn't help it." Remus paused for a moment to shake his head as if to remove the memory from its insides.

"They married not long after your parents did, and it was about two months before she was pregnant." Harry looked at the man with so many questions in his eyes and could hardly believe what he was hearing. Sirius had been married, and had a child? Where was the baby? Seeing that most everyone else in the room didn't look shocked he turned around to ask Remus the many questions that reeled though his mind only to find that Remus was not done with his story. "She gave birth on September 1st to a little girl with her eyes. In fact if she hadn't had his nose and his ears she would have been Danielle's clone. Sirius loved that little girl. We all did."

Remus stopped his story yet again as he walked over to the desk not far from where he stood. Opening one of the drawers he rifled through some of its contents and picked up a small square of paper that looked as if it had seen better days. Turning back toward Harry he looked at the piece of paper with a haunting grin upon his face. "We called her by her middle name, Jade." he held the paper out to the sixteen year old boy. It was a picture of a much younger Sirius and a little girl with those magical eyes.

"When Jade was nine moths old she disappeared, along with Danielle. We looked for them everywhere. James and I nearly tore apart Azkaban trying to see if a Death Eater had harmed them. When we asked about them the idiots just laughed. We didn't know why until we she came back. One day, about a month before your parents died Lily went to Sirius' flat to see if he would come over to their place to eat, cause he wouldn't unless he was forced. She found him pissed drunk and in tears. She immediately floo'd James and I; Peter was sick. Actually he was probably at a Death Eater meeting, who knows. We got there and beheld a sight we had never really seen; a defeated Sirius.

"He passed out not too long after we arrived and when he woke the next morning we grilled him about why he was so broken up, not to mention why he had gotten so drunk. We sat there in silence for what felt like hours and then he finally spoke. _'Danielle was here'_ he said. We simply assumed she was leaving him and had taken Jade without saying anything. His job kept him away at all hours of the night, she never really approved. But we never expected what he would later tell us. So we began to comfort him. Tell him that he could fight for custody, he would move on. He began laughing. It was a soulless heart wrenching laugh, and while he laughed he cried. We didn't understand. "_She took her Prongs, Mooney"_ he cried. "_My baby. My Jade. Gone."_

"Turns out our comforting was pointless. Yes Danielle had left him, but he no longer loved her. Her visit cleaned him of all emotions for her, save hate. Danielle was a Death Eater. That evil bitch had taken Jade and hidden her from us all so that she could be used "_for the glory of the Dark Lord." _" As Remus finished his story Harry simply stood there.

For nearly five minutes the entire room stood in complete silence until Tonks, who Harry assumed had also never heard the story, asked "Why? Why was she a Death Eater, and why hide her daughter? What could a baby do that would help You-Know-Who? This makes no sense."

Mad-Eye Moody looked toward Tonks with both eyes and answered her, "The chit came from a very powerful family line. Her mother had the gift of her ancestors like her mother before her, and so when she had three children and the gifts of her family didn't pass along to any of them their sire was furious. She was taken purely for that purpose, so that the children would be extraordinary and under his control. Apparently Danielle, unlike her siblings, wanted power and her fathers affections, and when she discovered that her child might one day show signs of the gift that skipped her generation it made her in expendable to her father. She and she alone knew where the little girl was, and if he wanted that magic he had to give her power. Her daughter was her ticket to the inner circle of Death Eaters. Her daughter guaranteed her life and her power."

"How is her daughter's power a ticket to the inner circle? That would only help if she was--" Tonks began until she was cut off.

"Danielle Riddle, the youngest daughter from the imprisonment and repeated rape of Genevieve Dupree by Tom Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort, thus why the Mark is on her right arm. Once he discovered that her gifts were skipping the generation of their children he tossed them out, as he had no use for them. Not a single one could ever be used for his purposes. They didn't have their ancestors magic. We had thought that she, like her brother and sister, hated her father for what he did to her mother, but apparently she wanted his love. So to get it she promised him the daughter, the only child, that was showing signs of Dupree magic." Dumbledore finished his synopsis on Danielle's history with the burning look in his eyes once again, which faded into sorrow as he looked to Remus.

Professor McGonagall then went on. "Once she was discovered Dianne and Damien Riddle were furious. They, along with their mother tore up nearly every place that they could think of in an attempt to save Jade from Voldemort. Dianne and Damien then resigned from the Order because, well who would really expect them to fight their sister? Dianne lives here in England with her husband and son, who may or may not exhibit the same powers that brought about Jade's disappearance; while Damien moved to live with his mother in France. We were all under the impression that Danielle had died long ago in the first war, and that Jade was lost. So we stopped looking. Though now that she's alive maybe we can find ouT if Jade is alive, and if so and prevent Voldemort from using her powers."

Harry stood still for a moment and looked at the picture in his hands while absorbing everything he had just been told. Then, as if he had been struck by lightning, he remembered the eyes of the young girl in his dream. "Could it be?" he whispered. Closing his eyes he tried to bring the memory of the young girl to his mind. Forgetting the pain and the layers of distress that permeated her figure he was able to recall her appearance. He then gasped.

"Remus, it's her!" he exclaimed. "The girl in my dream was Jade! Her eyes, they were exactly like the woman who was attacking her! Exactly like Danielle's, but without the hate and the death. Danielle was saying that her destiny and her very birth was for Voldemort. For his glory. It has to be her!"

Upon hearing Harry's revelation the room burst into a chaotic mess with people yelling from every side if he was sure. How did he know? Where could they be? Remus looked to Harry and they shared a look that soothed the young man's mind. She would be OK, they would save her. It seemed as if maybe everything was looking up until Mundungus Fletcher appeared with a large pop bearing a muggle paper and bad news.

"Eight girls are missing from Muggle London. Quite a few are witches, including one Hermione Granger."

_

* * *

_

_A.N. _

_Well as you can see it is AU due to the 6th and 7th book and because I had this in mind for years. I actually redid this chapter as it says above so yeah. Updates are to be more frequent I know I failed in the past, but I managed to figure out the problems I was having for this story. See, even though the idea came to me, I dont usually write Harry/Hermione. I once loved the pairing above all others, and then became a strong Draco/Hermione kinda gal thx to Cassandra Claire. lol._

_Anywho, this is to be done my way, ah the glory of fanfiction. Too bad I couldnt see more of this happen in the series, j/k. The great goddess Rowling has done magnificently. I can only hope to do as well as she :) _

_Please Review. I love to read them and even flames help me improve. Thx_

_Amora de Bella_


	2. A Missing Piece

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, etc...

* * *

**Harry Potter and the Daughter of the Veil**

_Chapter_ 2: _A Missing Piece_

* * *

As soon as the words left Mundungus' mouth the assurance in fate that Harry had dissipated. 

_"Eight girls are missing from Muggle London. Quite a few are witches, including one Hermione Granger."_

It played like a record over and over until he felt sheer exhaustion from merely thinking. In only five minutes the world had gone upside down. The Order members rushed to figure out how it had happened and, as Tonks so eloquently put it, _"Who the Bloody Hell was supposed to watch her house tonight!"_. In the pandemonium of realizing that Hermione was gone Harry had pushed all thoughts of his dream from his mind. He rationalized the actions by acknowledging that Danielle needed Jade and without her she would be nothing in Voldemort's eyes, so therefore no true harm would come to the girl. However, Hermione, well that was a horse of a different color entirely.

She was one of the best friends of the Boy-Who-Lived. The brilliant muggle-born who defied all theories of pureblood supremacy. Her very existence antagonized the Death Eaters and their Half-Blood Lord. She managed to outwit everyone and take top marks in everything; even in third year when she had overloaded herself on courses she managed to stay at the top of their class; and in doing that knocked many pureblood heirs and heiresses out of her way. No doubt that if her disappearance was magically related at all, she could be in a perilous situation.

As these thoughts rushed through his mind Harry had managed to maneuver through the chaos that was now Grimmuald Place and mechanically sit upon the third step on the rickety staircase. His legs failed him at his first attempt to climb the two flights to his room, where he would have to tell Ron the news. Where he would have to admit that it had happened. He would have to admit that Hermione, their Hermione was in danger or could even be...no! He wouldn't even think such things, less they come to pass. As he sat on the steps he managed to work himself into a comatose stupor of sorts as his mind flashed through every memory he ever had of his best friend.

From the meeting on the train at eleven years old, to trolls, and Polyjuice Potions. From saving Buckbeak, to liberating Sirius, and learning the summoning spell. From the Yule ball, to the D.A., and The Department of Mysteries. She had always been there. Strong, supportive, and sensitive. Hell, without her, he and Ron would have most likely killed one another at times. She was the third part of their whole, and his first _true_ friend. Yes, Ron had been his friend first, but Hermione didn't flock to him for being Harry Potter. She actually didn't think much of him to begin with, what with his rule-breaking ways, and managing to drag her along with the Fluffy debacle. Then everything changed; with the troll he and Ron, who had gotten over his hero-worship by then, had met the real Hermione and she had become the first person who was originally his friend for just being Harry, and she had achieved the status of first girl in both his and Ron's lives.

They did everything together, in moderation of course, he wasn't sure that he and Ron could function without Hermione. She made them wash after Quidditch, do their homework, and eat balanced diets. If she had never come along they would have never managed to come as far as they had. They would have died from clogged arteries, failed every course, and been outcasts to all wizarding kind due to poor hygiene. They needed Hermione. Plain and simple. She had to be OK.

After the fear of losing her started to dissolve, it manifested into a much worse coping mechanism; denial. He denied that she was even gone. "She must be in hiding" he thought. For surely Hermione, in her Hermione-like brilliance managed to escape with her family. Surely she is riding the Knight Bus at this very moment to reach the known safety of Number 12 Grimmuald Place. If she was not on the bus or hiding, then she must definitely be on vacation, and those stupid muggle reporters and police mistook another girl for _their_ Hermione.

It was all an absurd thought really; that Hermione Granger, the smartest witch of her age, could ever be brought down by mere Death Eaters. She fought them in the Department of Mysteries and survived. However as this thought crossed his mind Harry ignored the nagging voice in his head that reminded him that Dolohov had actually incapacitated Hermione, that she was petrified by the Basilisk, that she lost consciousness in the fight with Dementors. No, Hermione was Hermione. None of those things mattered. She was fine. It was with that thought in mind, and the rose-colored tint that seemed to have embedded itself into his glasses, that helped Harry make it up the stairs to find a wide awake, though blissfully unaware, Ron and a quietly snoring Ginny down the hall.

As he entered their room Harry took one look at his red-headed friend and the reality of the situation hit him; hard. She was missing. As he finally moved to the next stage of grief; anger, he ignored the persistent questions bombarded at him by the taller young man and walked over to the window. Looking out side of the once grimy glass let his eyes meet the sight of quiet, safe streets. Lined with happy homes where everyone was blissfully unaware that one of the worlds greatest people was missing. How dare they assume that her being gone didn't matter. Didn't they know that her life was crucial to theirs. She was Hermione, and Merlin's beard if she wasn't going to one day best the world. They should remember that. They should all be up and looking for his friend. The bastards didn't care.

In that moment he shared a similar thought with his rival, Tom Marvolo Riddle_, "Muggles are scum, and don't deserve the ground that they walk on." _Though the thought lasted but a moment he would live to regret his moment of hate, viewing it as a betrayal to himself, however it was before the regret slipped in and the loss took over that he managed to meet the climax of the anger stage. Harry, sweet tempered Harry, put his fist through the window. As Ron screamed for him mum, and as the Order ran upstairs fearing the worst upon hearing that the Boy-Who-Lost was injured, Harry simply laughed. He laughed.

As Molly ran up to find him with his fist still outside of the shattered remnants of a winnow and as Dumbledore ordered everyone out that had work to do; Harry laughed. While he was guided toward Ronald's bed, as it was closer to the window that his own, and sat down ever so gently he laughed. While his hand was bandaged and the glass painfully removed, he laughed. As he was asked why he did it, he simply chuckled. However when he was asked if he was alright, he went silent and an eeriness overtook the small bedroom.

"What do you think." he let out with more bite than a pit bull. His reply more a statement than a question. Upon seeing the downcast faces of the headmaster and his surrogate mother Harry looked up into the pale blue eyes of his best friend, Ron. Not Hermione, not brown eyes. No, she might never come back.

He had reached acceptance, and it hurt more that the glass slicing his hand ever could.

Looking up to his friend he choked back tears and managed to find the words, but he had a hard time saying them. finally the hideous words that should have never been used in the same sentence managed to weasel their way out of his mouth, "Ron, it's Hermione. She's missing. Mundungus Fletcher picked up a muggle paper. She and seven other girls, some muggle some not, disappeared all over London. They have no clue where she might be. And by them I mean the muggle police or the Order. Despite the guard that was supposed to watch her round the clock."

Pausing; partially to allow his friend to take it all in and partially because he felt as if his very tongue should be ripped out for speaking such heinous words, Harry watched the flame-tempered red head soak all that he was told in. "Yeah, good one Harry. Like Hermione would ever go missing. Nice joke. Did she show up early or something? Though this is really pushing her better early than late mantra thing."

Looking to the floor, Harry directed his next sentence to Molly, "You should tell him.Since he obviously doesn't believe me" and with those words Harry and his now wrapped hand headed to visit Buckbeak. Perhaps now was a good time. Yes, a good time indeed.

* * *

Upon hearing his mother confirm Harry's words Ron raced down the stairs, determined to find his best friend sipping tea with Lupin or chatting about the Weird Sisters new song with Tonks, but instead he came upon a group of frenzied adults who stood as still as statues upon his presence being announced by his winded mother. They all watched as his eyes scanned the dreary room only to grimace as he ran past them to the kitchen. Following him there his family, minus the still slumbering Ginny, attempted to intercept him before he could tear the kitchen apart. As he stood in the middle of the cramped room his eldest brother came behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder and in an attempt to comfort his crazed younger brother placidly stated, "Ron, she's not here." 

Thinking he had gotten through to him, Bill watched his younger brother's head nod and let go of his shoulder. Only to witness him run down the hall, past the now quiet portrait of Mrs. Black, and to the heavy wooden door leading to the outside world. Catching his foot on the mat at the entrance, Ron nearly fell face first into the medley of things he, Harry, and his brothers had left by the door. "Fred, George. Quick, before Hermione comes in. Pick all this up, I promise I will pay you back, but you know how she is about messes."

As the tall red head stood up and dusted his too-short, threadbare pajamas off he looked to his brothers, both with somber looks on their faces and shouted for them to hurry up, he was going to open the door for her and she would have a fit if all of their junk was in her walking path; especially since it was so late. The twins looked at one another and felt their hearts break for their little brother, and for once they did what he asked. No questions. No strings. They took out their wands and aimed at the various playthings of teenage boys and sent them to each owners room respectively, all the while trying to keep from breaking their youngest brother into a thousand bits by telling him that he cannot attempt to will Hermione to the front door.

Once everything was in place Ron flattened his hair and threw open the front door to find a horrendous sight. An empty street. As tears began to flood his eyes he grabbed his shoes and began to put them on. Recognizing his attempt to set out to search for her on foot in a muggle neighborhood, Charlie took him by the shoulders and wrapped his stronger frame around his baby brother. Hugging him like their mum did when they were young and fell off of their tree house in the backyard. As Ron fought to be released from Charlie's hold, his tears began to fall.

Hearing the young boys sobs tore at the hearts of the members of the Order of the Phoenix. With each sob from Ron and each shatter from the attic each of them grew in their guilt. As they listened to the boys mourn for their friend they heard the heart of each young man shatter like the window in their room. And it was all their fault. They should have done better. They shouldn't have slacked off. With each new tear and each new crash the entire Order became more and more determined to bring Hermione home, because if she cared for these boys half as much as they cared for her; then her heart must be broken too.

* * *

A little over a week had passed since news of Hermione's disappearance and the sober attitudes of the houses inhabitants was eerily similar to its tenants of old. The House of Black was aptly named. The somber mood seemed to permeate the air and even was thick enough to affect the surrounding muggle abodes in anyway possible. As you could hear the yelling of neighbors and feel the tension a block away. 

The residents and frequent visitors never seemed to sleep. They devoted their days to the boys. Trying to get them to talk, to laugh, to eat, or to sleep. Even to see one another. However, each young man stood firm. There was to be no conversation, no joviality, no food ingested, and no slumber. Not until she returned, and they definitely refused to see one another. Though not a single house member or guest could fathom why. Without Hermione they needed one another more then ever, right?

It would seem that way, but to the hearts and in the minds of two grief stricken young men, who too soon knew the harsh realities of war and its consequences to the young and intelligent, they mourned not only the loss of a friend, sister, and confidante, but also they mourned the end of an era. Though they knew not the fate of their friend; they did know the possibilities of its outcome. Without her, they could not see the light at the end of the tunnel. She was the intelligent one. The one who solved Snape's puzzle, who literally showed them the light amongst the Devil's Snare, who solved the Basilisk mystery while petrified, and who transversed time to become a heroine. Her good deeds shine so bright and numbered so great. She was always there, breaking rules and taking chances. Even when it killed her to go against authority, she was right by their sides. She was their buffer when times got tough, their shoulder to cry on, and she held a great deal of their hearts.

The three of them were a team. In every way there were one soul. Bravery, Common Sense, and Intelligence. Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

She may never come back to them. So where did that leave them? Why could they not face one another? Pain. Pain that they might lose the last remaining friend they had. Pain to look at each other and find hope, only to have it crushed. To see the other and think of the times that _they_ had for _they _will be no more. Not without her, not without Hermione. Call it dramatic, but each boy locked himself away. Refusing human contact and scoffing at those who tried. And for those who mentioned their loss, their friend; things were generally thrown.

* * *

Truthfully the loss of such a close friend could not have come at a worse time for Harry. Especially if that friend happened to be Ron or Hermione. It had been a few months since his godfather had past into the Veil in the Department of Mysteries, and he had yet to properly mourn Sirius as he should. In fact Hermione had often chastised him by post, both muggle and magical due to the Dursleys, pleading with him to grieve to mourn. Not to bottle it up. She constantly reminded him that she was there should he ever decide to talk about his loss, or anything for that matter. Now what was he to do? His compassionate shoulder had disappeared and was only Merlin knows where. He couldn't bear to think of what her captors could be doing to her, or what they could have done. 

In truth he blamed himself, as he had for Sirius. If he hadn't fallen for Voldemort's trap and gone to "rescue" Sirius he would have never had to be saved by the former felon, and thus Sirius would still be alive. If he had never been Hermione's friend she wouldn't have become Voldemort's number one muggle-born target. She could have survived this war and not come out jaded or worse, not come out at all. He was simply the root of the destruction. He was a poison. He was no better than a murderer.

He had already had to admit that Hermione may not come back to them, to him, but he could prevent Ron from suffering the same fate. He had already lost his angel, his confidante. He would not let anyone take his savior, his brother in arms. He smiled a half-smile in his reference of his friends in immortal terms, however true it was.

Ron, truly was his savior. When they met, though encouraged through hero worship and eagerness to know _the _Harry Potter, it soon developed into a familial bond. Ron introduced him to the world of friendship and family. He gave him a mother and a father, Ron's family loved him as their own. Fred and George always called him their black sheep, they thought it was funny. Black hair and all that genetic junk. He gave him a purpose. Helped him find himself. He would never let the darkness that tainted him harm Ron or his family, Harry's family.

Hermione, she truly had been an angel. If Ron had saved him, had helped him find himself; then she had molded him. She guided him through everything as a guardian angel, and she protected him. She taught him the feelings he had been denied: laughter, peacefulness, compassion, forgiveness. She had been the first to ever see the real him. She opened him up, and made him able to allow Ron to help him find himself. She kept his soul light. One smile and he could conquer the world. She believed in him. She found greatness in him, and how had he repaid her? By spreading his poison, by bringing her into the bowls of a war that he should have never let her know existed. He should have protected her. He should have stayed away.

But how could he. Thinking back now, he knows that he would never be able to stay away from her. Humans crave purity, and she was as pure as snow. He tainted her. He was poison, and he would poison no others.

* * *

Ron had been hysterical for nearly two days, before he realized that this was all his fault. He was the eldest of their group. The one able to make Hermione think logically when she forgot she was even a witch. The one to make Harry laugh in dire situations. No one would ever know how hard he actually tried to be such a fool, though sometimes it actually comes natural, but when the spirits of his family fell low he had no problem blowing a cauldron up with Neville, suffering through catching a spider just to release it near his friends (so he could finally give the terrified reaction he wanted to give to begin with) when sadness flowed in the air. 

He should have insisted she stay with him this summer. He had invited her, she declined, but he should have insisted. He should have drug her out of the station and grabbed her parents on the way out. He should have not simply waved her off with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He had failed. He actually seemed to do that quite alot. Grades, flying, he was actually useless to his friends all he could do was make them laugh. What was the importance of cheap thrills when a war was going on? He was no better than that rat, Peter Pettigrew.

Having to accept that Hermione might not come back to them, to him, killed him inside. Just another thing his uselessness had cost the world. the greatest mind and soul that had ever graced the world and he might as well of handed her to the Death Eaters. Way to Go Ronald! Well he was determined, he had already lost his role model. Yes, believe it or not he no longer desired to be like his brothers. He wanted to be like the intelligent, caring, compassionate Hermione, the same one he failed to protect, that he put in harms way. He would not lose Harry. He would not hand him to You-Know-Who. He would stay away, he wouldn't drag him down like a crippled appendage. He wouldn't allow his uselessness to kill his liberator, his brother. Especially when it cost him his angel, his guardian.

Harry truly was his liberator. He helped him forge his own identity. He was finally Ron. Not the youngest Weasley boy, or so and so's brother. He was free to travel his own path. Harry helped him see that he didn't have to be like Percy, Fred and George, Charlie, or Bill to have friends. To be accepted. He had been given the greatest gift, freedom. Freedom to be his own person. To begin to know himself. To begin to like himself. Harry had given him self-acceptance and helped him see that he was fine the way he was, and he wouldn't dare take Harry; his liberator and hero, down. He would do something useful; he would stay away from Harry and prevent his uselessness from dragging him into death.

Hermione, she truly had been an angel. Always so kind and caring. Even when you were cruel to her she showed kindness. He should know, he had been cruel to her many a time, and she forgave him each and every one. She helped him see that he should listen to Harry and accept that he was worth something. That he wasn't just a sidekick; a tag-along. She helped him realize that the self worth and acceptance Harry helped him find were valuable and the only thing that mattered. But in spite of her kindness she could be pushed too far, when he wasn't protecting her properly she was accosted and they discovered she held a temper, and though he still enjoys the memory of her slapping Malfoy, he still knew he had failed he should have protected her. He should have been better.

But that was what puzzled him. She made him better. She improved him. He felt at his best with her behind him. Believing in his new found acceptance and worth. A wealth in it's own. How was he to be better? If that was his best he was weak, a useless fool, and he would lead no others to death.

* * *

She could feel her heart breaking. She was no better than the Death Eaters she had grown to loathe with her entire being, and yet she held power over them. They needed her. For what she didn't know; didn't understand. She supposed that all would be revealed in due time. Fate was a cruel mistress, and as she picked herself up from the grime and filth beneath her palms she felt a sense of longing, of failure. She would be hated, simply for being born. Forced to accept that fate, she soon dissolved into tears. With only a prayer that her knight would come someday and accept her, ignore her foul lineage. She prayed her protector forgave her, for being so filthy and unworthy of his praise. 

She was nothing, worth less than the grime beneath her frail and beaten body. She could hear the screams of others, men and women. It chilled her to her very core. Why was she here? Why had she not just died? Life was cruel. And so the princess waited hoping to one day be loved, in spite of the revelation that she was filth. She knew this for sure, for they had told her so. Her tormentor, her personal little demon. Death Eater's were the dragons. She just prayed her knight would still wish to save her.

* * *

_Please remember that events change people, drastic changes in ones thinking and lifestyle can com from a simple accident. I hope you like this Chapter and please review, it makes me happy..even flames. Constructive criticism is taken well by me. Promise. _

_Thank you soooo much:_ **ShadowDog34, Lovelinelivelong639 (I'm not telling yet), elwin, Anime Freak Inc., kitty8101, and Tween Idol.**_ I am flattered and hope that you like this one too._

* * *

_Amora de Bella_


	3. Unified Chaos

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, it belongs to J.K. Rowling. _

* * *

AU 6th yr. story

* * *

**Harry Potter and the Daughter of the Veil**

_Chapter 3: Unified Chaos_

* * *

Ginny Weasley had reached her limit. It was pathetic really. Both boys were too busy wallowing in their own grief to see that they needed one another, and that Hermione needed to be found. No. They simply accepted that she was gone and decided to moan over it. Prats. She had half a mind to go up to that attic and knock some sense into Harry. With one of her mother's frying pans. And Ron, poor stupid Ron, if she had a chance to go at him he would be black and blue. More so than Harry, because he had stolen her room. Idiots. 

Harry locks himself in that stuffy attic and mourns and moans; while Ron commandeer's HER room and wastes his life away sobbing like a little girl. Pathetic. Hermione would be infuriated with them. She could just imagine the curly haired bookworm smacking the two idiots with her favorite copy of Hogwarts, A History. Their behavior was unacceptable, and Ginny was ready to let them know it.

They had less than three weeks until school started back and neither boy seemed to be living in reality. Not to mention, Ginny wanted her bed back. Sleeping with Tonks was nice, but quite odd. She would wake up and someone "new" was sleeping in the bed next to hers. After two weeks she still panicked upon waking. This just wouldn't work.

She thought it rather silly for everyone to simply let them go on like this. Almost as if they bought the snacks and threw the boys a pity party. For Merlin's sake they were bloody adults, and even they were acting like teenagers who were stood up on a date. Well, enough was enough. Hermione was her friend too, and while not as close to her as Harry and Ron, she still felt the pain of her loss.

However; the temperamental red-head did not lock herself in her room, partly because Ron had, while sobbing and screaming. No, she was pro-active. She was determined. She was everything she had thought that they would be. Judging from their past she had assumed that they would tear apart the country to find their missing friend. After all, were these not the same two boys who followed her into the Chamber of Secrets? Was Harry not the boy who rescued Sirius? Did they not go after the Sorcerers Stone? Of course they were, and it was high time that they remembered it.

Ginny thought it funny that out of every responsible adult present she, a fifteen year old school girl, was going to be the one who made those two idiots talk to one another and go after their friend. Perhaps it was because she spent more time with them, going to the same school and all, but she thought she knew why they refused to see one another. They were afraid, and full of self-pity. They felt her disappearance was their fault, however idiotic that notion was, and feared that if they faced one another it would never be the same. Well, two weeks into their personal funerals here she was. Angry, determined, and every bit her mother's daughter.

* * *

Harry was well into his day's worth of angry fits. Looking around he could see that nearly everything that could be broken was, and he still wanted to mope. It was all his fault. And at that thought he had ended the fury portion of his day, and entered the wonderful world of self-pity. As he slumped down the grimy wall onto his knees he heard a most unwelcome sound; footsteps. "Go away." he shouted. "I don't care what you have to say."

The footsteps stopped abruptly, and Harry resumed his wallowing only to jump up in shock as the attic door flew open to reveal a very frightening Ginny clenching the ear of her elder brother. In any other situation the sight of the two redheads would be quite hysterical. Ron attempted to sever his sister's hold while keeping his eyes to the floor, and Ginny's chest moved rapidly as she attempted to regain her breath and keep her hold.

At the sight before him; Harry locked his eyes on the nearest inanimate object as he slid back to the ground. "What are you doing here? Can't you see I'm busy?" That was the nail in his coffin.

Upon hearing his words the volatile red-head slammed the door shut, ignoring the whine of the old hinges, and threw her brother to the ground with a surprising strength. "Enough is enough," she screamed. "I have had it with the two of you. Moaning and groaning like little children without a lolly. What in the bloody hell happened to you? You're Harry bloody Potter and Ron fucking Weasley! Hogwarts troublemakers, adventure seekers, and Hermione's best friends."

Harry's jaw clenched as she spoke. He could almost see the shouting match soon to occur. She didn't know. She didn't care. Hermione was gone, and she had the audacity to mention her. As if she truly knew her, as if her absence meant as much to her as it did to them. He looked up and did something he hadn't done in the past two weeks; he spoke. No yelling, no tears. But his words cut like a knife.

"What do you care? Hermione was never your friend. You didn't know her like we did, like I did. She was simply Bookworm Granger to you, the insignificant third to the dynamic duo. Our secretary if you will. You don't care about her, none of you do. You're just afraid I won't fight. You're afraid that I will abandon my_ mission _and then the precious Order will have to do some things on their own. Then they can't rely on a sixteen year old boy to save their arses.

"None of you give a damn what happens to her. You only care that it may affect me. I may not want to fight. Well let me tell you something; all of you can rot in hell. She was my best friend, my sister. The only person that really mattered in this god damned thing. Without her I never would have been able to survive this long. She was so much more than our third, our little tag along. She _was _the Golden Trio. She held us up, and she protected us. But I couldn't do the same for her. I couldn't protect her."

As he spoke, his words like steel, Harry saw a look of fury grace the faces of the two before him. Ron, who had previously looked to the floor as if it were his lifeline, quickly reared his head back and looked him in the eye. A fire blazed in the deep blue, evaporating any traces of fear that remained. A hurricane brewed in his stormy depths, and suddenly he felt a great force slam into his face. Forcing him to the ground. Ron had struck him.

* * *

Ron was furious. How dare he believe that Hermione only mattered to him. How dare he assume that he was the only one who hurt, that he was the only one who loved her and felt her loss. Not knowing what overtook him, feeling as if he were having an out of body experience, he slowly drew his fist back and felt a mixture of satisfaction and nausea over take him as the sound of a strike rang through the room.

Time caught up to him and things ceased being in slow motion. He looked down to find his best friend on the floor, clutching his eye and shouting profanities. To be quite truthful, he didn't care. Harry deserved it. The selfish git. He watched as Ginny rushed to Harry's side, though she seemed to be suppressing a smirk, and then he spoke.

"She wasn't just your best friend you know. I was there too. I loved her just as much, and I feel her loss just as deeply. So don't you dare assume that I'm not hurt by this. That I haven't done exactly as you have these past two weeks. I know we need her. I know she made us whole, but don't you bloody well lump me with them! Don't pretend that I don't give a shit about her! She was my best friend too!"

As he spoke Ron began to think of his friend, and in his fury tears ran down his face. "She was my best friend too," he sobbed.

* * *

The room was still. Filled only with the heart breaking sobs of her brother and the heavy gasping of the Boy-Who-Lived. Ginny grit her teeth and took in several lung-fulls of air; preparing herself for what she was about to say. Glancing around the room she looked out of the small window that was meant to air out the dingy room. Focusing on the glass she thought of what to say. When she felt ready to face the two other occupants of the cramped space she sucked in one last heaving breath and turned around while letting the carbon-dioxide slowly expel from her lungs. 

"We love her too. We feel the pain of her loss." she began in a quiet tone. "Not because she is important to you, either of you, but because she is our friend. Our confidant. Our rationality. And though I was not and never will be as close to her as the two of you, I hurt. I want to simply give up, because if they could take Hermione, the brightest witch of the age, what chance do we stand?

"Her disappearance is scary. Who else could we lose? Who else will be sacrificed to free others? But you see, unlike you I think logically. We don't know if she is dead, so there's no use referring to her in the past tense, and if she is dead she would never want you two to ignore the world in its hour of need. This war means so much to her. It is being fought over blood, blood that runs in her veins. She devoted herself to this mission. To the two of you, and I honestly believe that she would prefer that you forsake the world than one another.

"You two should be plotting her rescue and retaliation. You should be ready to rescue her. Every moment that you waste moping and wallowing in self-pity she could be suffering. Could you honestly live with yourselves knowing that you could have saved her, but were too busy giving up and acting like petulant two year olds? If so then you're not the boys I thought you were. Then you're not really mourning Hermione, but mourning her contribution to your lives. You would be doing exactly what you accuse the Order of. And remember; Hermione hated hypocrisy."

Ginny, feeling that she had said her peace, calmly stepped over the debris in her path and unlocked the door. Pulling it open, she heaved a sigh and walked with determination down the narrow flight of stairs. The sound of her feet slowly faded into the darkness, and as she reached the end of the staircase she leaned against the wall and let out a sob.

* * *

Charlie didn't know what to do. He was at a loss. His mother acted as if one of her children had died, which considering who was missing he supposed that it was an appropriate reaction, his brother was a mess, and the remainder of the Order were making idiotic plans while allowing the two boys, Harry and Ron, to act like teenage girls on their monthlies. He just didn't know what he should do. 

He hardly knew Hermione. He knew that she was quite like Percy in an academic stand point, but much more agreeable. He knew that she was his little brother's best friend, and if the twins were to be believed, his love interest as of now. He knew that she was the one who kept the boys from getting killed on their crazy adventures, but he mainly knew that she was a human being. So he worried.

He worried that she was suffering, feeling the fury of You-Know-Who simply for existing. He worried that they were wasting precious time and that each second that they willed away on pointless meetings and fights brought her closer to her demise, but what could he do? It was unlikely that the rest of the Order would unite over the words of someone who hardly knew the girl, and so he was useless. Forced to simply pray to a higher power for time. Time to rescue her, and time for them to pull together.

Tiring of the screaming match between his mother and Tonks, he walked out of the sitting room and slumped against the wall to the left of the door. Hearing another door close down the way he watched as his baby sister stormed past him toward the attic while dragging, to his surprise, Ron along by his ear. After a moment he heard the attic door slam open and waited for the now familiar sound of shattered pottery and angry shouts from the Boy-Who-Lived.

When he heard nothing of the sort he began to worry. A slightly irrational part of him wondered if Ginny killed the two boys, but he dismissed the thought with a soft laugh as he heard footsteps descend down the stairs. Charlie rose from his position in the hallway and made his way over to the attic stairs just in time to see his baby sister collapse against the wall in tears.

He simply watched as his heart bled for the girl. They didn't realize that this affected more than the boys, it hurt anyone who knew Hermione, and he was tired of this. Tired of listening as his brother sobbed in the room down the hall. Tired of hearing glass break and angry thumps from the top level. They were going to listen to him, or he'd make them, but not for his brother or Harry. For Ginny, and all of Hermione's other friends. For everyone who felt her loss.

Finally determined enough to tell his companions what he believed he marched into the meeting room with a vengeance. Slamming the door behind him he watched as the room fell into an abrupt silence at the harsh noise. Seeing that they were just about to resume their fighting he gathered the nerve he had developed from his years in Romania and told them all to shut up and listen.

"I have stood in this room for two weeks as you all sit around arguing about whose fault it is, and who is qualified to do some crazy scheme, and I have had enough. A young girl is_ missing, _we are wasting precious time. We are divided at a moment when we need to be more united than ever. This isn't some seasoned Auror we're talking about; it's a sixteen year old child. A girl who is precious to many people. Valued by many, and if we continue to fool around she could die. We would not only let down those two, but every person who ever called her friend or family.

"Who gives a damn about whose fault it is or who is more qualified? We should be planning on rescuing her and the other girls, not finding out why she was taken and all that other bullshit. We can't let this tear us apart. For her sake, and for ours."

As he ended his tirade Charlie looked around the room at the stunned faces present. He watched as they turned from looks of offense to approval and agreement. What shocked him the most was the look of pride on Dumbledore's face.

"He's right," Moody spoke up. "We're wasting time and the chit is suffering through every second sure as I'm standing here. "

"Then first thing is first, where might they have taken her?"

Everyone began to ponder Kingsley's question, as Charlie stood amazed by the entry way. They actually listened. Feeling a weight on his shoulder he turned to find his sister standing in the now opened doorway.

"Thank you." she whispered. "You made them listen."

Pleased with the look of relief and hope that graced her previously forlorn features, Charlie let a grin creep onto his face and leaned down to kiss the girl on the cheek as he whispered his reply.

"Your welcome."

* * *

Several hours later the Order of the Phoenix finally decided to take a break from their meeting. They were all quite tired and many of the men were complaining of hunger. As Molly said, for a fierce determination had now overtaken the matronly woman, they would do no good to Hermione if they were distracted by hunger and fatigue. So they adjourned for two hours. Time to nap and refuel. Each member walked out of the room in a much different manner than the recent meetings. They had a sense of harmony about them. Voldemort wouldn't break them apart over this, and they would get her back, and perhaps they might discover the mystery behind Harry's previously forgotten dream. However, Hermione and the other girls took precedence. Theirs was a much more dangerous matter. 

The majority of the Order began to venture into the kitchen, food being their first thought then sleep, however Tonks could barely keep her eyes open and so decided to forgo her growling stomach in favor of her bed. As she walked towards the stairs she heard a very eerie creep. In true Tonks fashion, she jumped up making a great calamity and then remembered that she was an Auror and that stealth was a good thing to have. Creeping towards the noise she was met with a most shocking sight; Harry and Ron were coming down from the attic. Her first thought was puzzlement at Ron's presence in the attic, and then her next was joy. They came down. Together, and it looked as if it was for more than to sneak to the bathroom while no one was around as they were venturing past the loo and down the main staircase toward the kitchen and also the Order.

She turned from her room and decided that she was suddenly well rested and famished. In other words, she wanted to be there for the grand event. Rushing down the stairs, she was there just in time to see the stunned room staring at the two new arrivals.

"A-are you hungry boys?" Molly asked hesitantly.

"Yeah Mum," Ron said as he sat down on the long bench at the table.

Molly went to work fixing Ron a sandwich as the rest of the room awaited Harry's reply.

"No thanks, Mrs. Weasley."

It was as if they all breathed a great sigh of relief. He was back. They were back. Maybe this was possible, maybe the boys would pull together one of their infamous stunts and save their friend. Granted it wasn't really appropriate of them to wish for two sixteen year old boys to take on an entire troupe of Death Eaters, as they were adults and should first and foremost protect them. However there wasn't anyone able to deny that the two, along with Hermione, were able to pull off some rather extraordinary things. Though it was usually Hermione that came up with the logical and rational plans, there would be no stopping the two when they tried to save their friend. They looked hell bent, and now that it seemed that they were through moping there would be no stopping them. They were sure of it.

* * *

Tom Marvolo Riddle was never known for his patience. That much was apparent from his short fuse during the Death Eater revels. Should one of his followers take too long to report or to complete a mission, they would face his wrath. Although, he was always willing to make an exception in special cases, and this was such a case. When it came to acquiring the power of the Dupree, the ability to defeat death itself, he had and would continue to tread lightly and preach patience. 

His sorry excuse for a daughter however, was not making any progress. She simply succeeded in setting them back. There was no improvement of the situation, and to say he was angry would be an understatement. She had been a disappointment as a child, the gifts of her blood having skipped over her and her siblings, and she was just as much a disappointment now.

In all actuality, he didn't need her. She was much more fanatical than Bellatrix, and was twice as crazy to boot. Almost to the point of uselessness, and she took a deep pleasure in torturing her only child. Now it's not as if he disapproved of disciplining a brat and letting them know their place and he was never one to turn down a good torture session, but she had come far too close to killing the girl multiple times and that did not sit well with the Dark Lord. Perhaps Danielle needed to be reminded that she was expendable, and that she was not to greatly harm his property. Especially when this particular property could give him definite immortality.

He could truly live forever. This one girl was more important and much more of a guarantee than any potion or stone. Should her powers mature, and if he could manage to hold her in his grasp, she could assure that not even Potter would be able to bring him down. He would rule the world, and nothing would stop him. Even death was something he could laugh at. He was only hindered by his granddaughter's mistrust and fear. Both of which were enhanced by his offspring's methods of "persuasion", and so she needed to be reminded that she was not what was important. She was nothing without the girl, but the girl was everything.

His thoughts were interrupted as the door to the parlor opened and the woman in question entered the darkened room. As she approached the high backed chair that held her Lord and sire he began to smirk, if you could call the tightening of his serpent-like lips such. He watched as she knelt before him and kissed the hem of his robes and when she began to rise he stood and struck her to the floor with a powerful force. Taking an insane pleasure from the startled gasp of pain that she emitted when her head hit the floor he was forced to smother an amused laugh and waited for her to assume the proper position before he would continue with their little meeting.

She slowly rose and took the hint to remain plastered to the floor, she could tell she was in trouble.

"You have always been an idiot, a pain in my side. Begging for my attention, and believing that you deserved some sort of affection and respect for simply being of my blood. Yet, you can't seem to realize that I hold nothing in my heart for you. I never have, and I never will. You were born without the power I sought, and it is only because you bore a blessed child, and managed to hide her so that you would be welcomed in my circle, that I even tolerate you.

"However, I have noticed that you are more of a hindrance than an asset when it comes to the girl. I know the tortures that you inflict, and can see the jealous gleam in your eyes. You know that she is far more important and welcome than you will ever be. You are supposed to be bringing her to our side, instilling a sense of belonging and showing her the great power being offered to her. So my question to you is this, what in the name of Salazar makes you believe that you can defy my orders? What makes you believe that by harming her you will gain importance in my eyes?"

Though he knew it was not necessary, he paused in his questioning and waited for a response from the pathetic excuse of a follower below him.

"My Lord, if I may speak freely?"

He gave a sound of approval, and waited for her to damn herself further.

"I have never meant to displease you My Lord. I live only to fulfill your wishes, and have only done what I have believed you would wish for. If I have angered you in any way I beg that you pardon my discretions. Perhaps if you would tell me what My Lord wishes, I can serve you to my greatest ability."

The Dark Lord began to laugh, a deep throated sound that would frighten even the bravest of his followers. He lowered himself back into the chair and plucked his wand from the sleeve of his ebony robes. Twirling it between his index finger and thumb, he watched the first few rotations and then answered the insolent chit.

"You are a fool. You honestly think that in all of my superior power amid ability, that I cannot see the lies and treachery in your mind? I see the contempt that you hold for the girl, and the hope that I will discard her. I see the plans that you have laid out for her demise, and to break her spirit. I see that you may have already succeeded. I am not blind to your short comings and insolence, and I shall not be taken for an imbecile.

"You, my little idiot, shall learn one way or another that you are my servant. Not my heir. And now I give you one chance. I shall not kill you if, and only if, you admit to me her identity as the world knows her. From each girl we have taken, which was she? I have seen her bare of charms and glamours, but what appearance did she take in the past? This block shall not last, I will either torture you until you can no longer hold me out of this secret, followed shortly by your death, or I shall allow you to speak her name and to continue your pathetic existence. Now chose. Pick your poison if you will."

He watched as she bit her bottom lip, lost in thought. She looked to be considering his offer, as he placed his wand upon the arm of the chair. He prepared himself for his answer, and smirked as she drew a deep breath.

"Her name in the lie was Andrea Felton. I placed her with two muggles west of Yorkshire. She bares the charm now, and you may look upon her as you wish My Lord."

Had she looked up she would have seen a frightening sight indeed. A smile, reminiscent of the cat that ate the canary, had made its way across her sire's face. He took his wand in his grasp and summoned another of his followers. Parkinson entered the room and knelt before his Lord, awaiting instruction.

"Andrea Felton is to remain unharmed and alive, but the rest of them are to be disposed of. I don't care how. They are yours to do with as you please, along with your comrades, as long as they breathe their last"

"If I may My Lord, what of the Granger girl? Shall she be disposed of as well?" Parkinson inquired.

"Yes, Potter's mudblood as well. Now go."

Parkinson rose from his position and backed out of the chilly room, closing the door upon his exit. Hearing the click that signified the door had been properly shut, the Dark Lord picked up his wand from where he had placed it and began to twirl it once again.

"For your cooperation I shall allow you to live. You will still be allowed to deal with the girl, but Bellatrix will supervise each "session"."

Watching as she exhaled in relief, he smirked. An evil glint arose in his eyes, looking as if it belonged there.

"But as for your punishment, you will not be let off so easily." He raised his arm and directed his wand in his daughter's vicinity. "Know this," he stated, "I do not tolerate direct lies, well in truth I do not tolerate lies in any sense. You pledged to surrender yourself mind, body, and soul to me. So for violating a solemn vow you will feel pain."

He lowered his wand and rose from his seat to stand in front of the woman prostrated before him. Using his foot he raised her chin and bid her stand. He began to circle her form as she rose from the marbled floors. He completed one last revolution before he raised his wand once again and muttered one word, "Sectumsempra".

He felt a familiar high as he watched wounds appear across her smaller frame and began to laugh at her screams. After she fell to the floor in pain he turned toward the door and walked away, only commenting in passing to Wormtail that he didn't want her blood to stain the white marble.

* * *

Andrea Felton was terrified, she watched as the masked Death Eaters tortured her fellow cell mates and cried out as she was struck from behind with a Cruciatus Curse. Pain rippled through out her entire body. She felt as if every nerve in her body was on fire, each pore was being penetrated by a thousand needles, and her eyes felt as if they were being cut by a knife seven ways to Sunday. 

She listened as the young women begged for death and mercy. She watched as two girls were raped and as the others were beaten, she screamed until her throat could take no more, and fell to the floor in relief as the curse was broken. Only to cry as she was faced with a tell-tale green light. Her body fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. Her hair surrounded a face that could never be recognized as Andrea, that could never be recognized at all. The torture had been immense; she was not the same person after this ordeal. Inside or out, and now she was dead.

* * *

Amora de Bella


	4. The Beginning of the Beginning

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter and such belongs to J.K. Rowling_

* * *

**Harry Potter and the Daughter of the Veil**

_Chapter 4: The Beginning of the Beginning_

* * *

Three months had past. No word. No bodies. The wizarding world had returned to a normal routine. Search parties no longer scoured the countryside for missing girls, The Daily Prophet had quit running any articles pertaining to the disappearances, and Hogwarts was back in full-swing. 

And as each girl faded from the mind of the public as a whole, they were soon dispelled from the thoughts of individuals as well. Parents, teachers, and officials in both the muggle and magical worlds wrote them off. Whether they declared them dead or titled them runaways, the names of the girls whose disappearances had once filled two worlds with fear were eventually placed in files and computer programs that would quickly collect dust and clog up disk space. Forgotten, like the girls they spoke of.

However, one name never left the tongues of a mass number of people. Her assumed death had furthered her celebrity status by even more drastic means. Books were being written detailing her short, exciting life. False sightings were being called in from countries far from her homeland. She had become a legend; a Muggle-born martyr. Hermione Granger had become an icon in her own right, and while her friends and family begged for the media to let her rest in peace, her heroic and intelligent accomplishments grew to Herculean size under the guidance of highly acclaimed journalists such as Rita Skeeter.

So many theories and lies circulated about the bushy-headed child, and the Order of the Phoenix had their days full attempting to cipher through fact and fiction, hoping for a lead on her whereabouts. They weren't quite ready to visit the empty grave erected by the ministry and read the fabricated epitaph carved in her honor. They wouldn't give up.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore had lived for many years, and in this exponential figure of solar cycles he learned a few things. For example: lemon drops; a quaint muggle treat, were quite satisfying if consumed in mass quantities, children listen best when they don't understand a word you say, and anything that had to do with a dark wizard was never cut and dry; though they tended to be straight forward, and so he always kept himself highly stocked with lemon drops, spoke in elliptical riddles, and took only what he knew of said Dark Wizards at face value, and then cross-examined everything until nothing remained. 

Perhaps that was why he remained one of the few that swore there to be life in Miss Granger's body still. There was nothing to examine, and therefore nothing to dissect. In all logical concepts; she should be dead. Thus, she must be alive. It made perfect sense, and so he sat in his office, warmed by the fire during the hot summers' eve and he pondered this theory while sucking on one of the aforementioned lemon drops.

Voldemort was never one to keep information that could pain his enemies hushed. Hermione's death would have been broadcast as her body was discovered or dumped in some elaborate fashion were she truly deceased. Tom had always been one for theatrics. An owl never ceased to hoot its accomplishments after all.

As each day went by, his eyes began to hold more sorrow and fear. In a way he mourned Hermione's survival. For each day, he was certain, she suffered monumentally. When she returned to them, to safety and warmth, she would never be the same.

He didn't know how right he was.

* * *

**Going Home To Rest!**

**By: Rita Skeeter**

_At last, the poor dear soul of recent tragedy, Hermione Granger, can be put to rest._

_As my lovely readers surely remember; the ministry declared Miss Granger deceased nearly two months ago in lieu of her disappearance for nearly three months, and just last week the Minister of Magic laid the first rose upon the newly completed monument in her honor. __Acting as a tomb, the monument was left hollow so that when she was discovered, she could be placed inside so that her story and life would be a testament to the great struggle we fight against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named._

_Many even took up a quite insane notion that as long as the bronze figure remained empty, the poor little thing would still be alive. This theory however, will now be put to rest. Merely three short hours ago, the slightly disfigured and heavily beaten corpse of a female was discovered and, after further investigation, revealed to be our lost heroine._

_Yes ladies and gentlemen, our beloved Harry Potter may at last grieve for his lady love._

_The girl will be placed into the bronze statue of her likeness in two days time, and according to Daphne Melonlorn, of Saint Mungo's Department of Magical Reconstruction, it will look just as she did before the hideous botching of her plain, but obviously alluring features._

_A new ceremony is scheduled... **(see page 4 for continuance)**_

* * *

She couldn't breathe. Minerva McGonagall stood just outside of the Gryffindor Common Room praying for air that had forsaken her, just as the God's seemed to have done to her prayers. 

It was past curfew, and each of the Heads of House had been sent to their respective charges to inform them of the contents of the Special Edition of the Prophet. Every owl had been prohibited from entering and now perched in the Owlery under a compulsion charm. The Headmaster didn't wish to leave the news to chaos; best let it be told to all at once, in a placid manner. Easily done, no matter how sorrowful or heart-breaking the task was.

However, this was Gryffindor. She had the agony of informing the closest friends and house-mates of the child. Her house would take it the hardest. Hell, she took it the hardest.

Hermione Granger was the prodigy of Hogwarts; the seeming reincarnation of Rowena Ravenclaw, and she had been fatefully placed in Gryffindor. She had been an intricate part of the identity of Gryffindor as of recently. After the disappearance, it seemed that her charges didn't know up from down. They were certain she was alive; she was a Gryffindor! But now, now she had joined the legacy of Cedric Diggory, and her house would ache just as Hufflepuff once did. With one exception.

Cedric's house didn't get him killed.

Straightening her cloak, Minerva looked up from the cold stone floor and rapped on the portrait, in an effort to awaken the Fat Lady.

"Professor! What a surprise, morning already?" the robust painting greeted her with a sleepy cheerfulness.

The somber Head of House grimaced and told the Guardian of the Lions that it was quite late; however, she needed to speak to the students inside. Correcting her slight slump in posture, she gave the password to the painting and entered with her wand at the ready.

Using a spell, she awakened each Gryffindor dormitory and informed them that all students were required in the common room in five minutes. Once she heard the shuffling of slippered feet against the stairway and bare appendages in the carpeted halls, she moved to stand in front of the fire place.

Placing a hand upon the mantle, she readied her racing mind and tried to calm her pounding heart. Hearing a cough, she looked over to the first arrivals, and succeeded. Her mind went blank, and her heart stopped.

The first to arrive just so happened to be a Weasley. Great Merlin above! For but a moment she had actually forgotten that she would not only be breaking the news to Hermione's house-mates and school chums, but to her magical family as well. She began to doubt that she could do this, and she had only seen Ginny. As she stood, frozen in place, her heart began pounding once again when the final batch of students dragged themselves into the common room. Amongst them, the sleepy-eyed Sixth Year boys' dormitory occupants, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley included.

Focusing on the task at hand, she asked if all were present and upon hearing a slight groan in affirmation, bid everyone to take a seat. Once everyone had done as she requested she took in a large, heaving breath and began.

"I'm sorry to have woken you all up at such an unreasonable hour, however the Headmaster has instructed every house to be roused and informed of a rather, painful event."

Taking a moment to breathe and structure her next admission, she saw looks of fear and curiosity dancing in the young, jaded eyes of her students.

"In the morning your owls will deliver quite a surprise, one which was meant for tonight. However, the Headmaster, the other Heads of House, and I all feel that this is better coming from one of us now. Therefore, we placed a compulsory charm upon the messengers to give us the ability to inform you of their parcels.

"Had they not been charmed you all would have either woken to or been woken up by the delivery of a special edition of the Daily Prophet, thusly sending the house into an enormous upheaval."

She saw the students growing impatient, but continued her extensive monologue in an effort to prolong the news, but as they began to doze in spite of the possible bad news, she saw she had no choice but to treat the heralding like a bandage, quick execution.

"A few hours ago, the Minister ordered a new ceremony for Hermione Granger. It will occur in two days, when she is full prepared."

Her students mulled over the news and began to appear joyful, obviously misinterpreting her vague words. She realized that she would have to give more decisive information, or they may settle on the wrong conclusion.

"Her body will be placed in the statue. They found her. She-she's gone."

* * *

As soon as the words left Professor McGonagall's lips, the glimmer of hope that had filled their house was choked and slaughtered by cold, cruel despair. Had anyone been sporting a watch or wand and checked the time, nearly three minutes had scraped by, and then the common room erupted. 

Lavender Brown and Pavarti Patel began to wail in sharp soprano tones for the memory of a girl they had lived with for five years; Neville paled and began to cry silently for his dear friend as he wondered when all of the loss and bad news would end; the Weasley twins, who had returned at their mothers' wand-point, had jumped up in that brief moment of miscommunication and immediately fell back onto the ground with the weight of the world upon clarification; everyone was reacting and then as if motioned to do so by a great puppet master, looked around the room in search of two faces.

Two faces; that were missing.

* * *

McGonagall had barely gotten the word "body" out before Harry and Ron simultaneously exited the house. The boys walked in a stupor down the winding hallway. No cloak or map to hide or warn them of others. Simply threadbare flannel and chilled skin. 

They wondered the hallway, lost in a world of misery, and then they ran. As if one person, the boys took off for the entry way and ran through the front doors, forgetting that they were supposed to be locked at this hour, and failing to notice the wizened figure that stood off in the shadows with a look of heartbreak in the eyes that watched the two boys run from an imaginary villain.

They ran until they couldn't run anymore. Adrenaline and some odd force led them to the Lake where they collapsed on the banks of the placid black hole, slightly out of sync.

* * *

Ron was speechless. Thoughtless. Emotions, however, he had plenty of those. Anger, despair, agitation, sorrow, agony, the list went on. This time, denial didn't come. She was gone. He was barely sixteen years old and had just experienced the greatest pain man has ever felt. His body numbed to the waning summer heat around him as he experienced the Cruciatus of his soul. They were really down to two now. 

And who's to say that he wouldn't lose Harry too? Hermione wasn't even the number one target. He knew he couldn't take this again. He would feel this numb state for the duration of his pathetic life. Her loss would never weaken or diminish.

What if Harry left too?

For once in his life he thought something through, shocked into a sense of realism. They were in real danger. They could all die. If Hermione was gone, they could be too. Determination took hold of the red head and he snapped his head over to his last remaining best friend, remaining in silence until Harry looked his way.

* * *

Harry had collapsed onto all fours, with his hands buried in the murky water and mud. It was over. The trio was no longer. First Sirius, now Hermione. He had dared hope for but a breath that she was still amongst the living, only to feel her death a second time again. 

He wouldn't allow this to happen again. He was going to find that sick bastard and end him like he ended Hermione. Each Death Eater would feel the white hot pain that now merged with the very plasma in his blood. It pumped through out his body, passing through his heart and into his lungs and more. They would burn just as he did. He would live with this burning forever, and they would as well.

For taking her from him.

The most important thing.

He looked out into the Lake and thought that maybe Dumbledore was wrong to choose Ron as his trophy during the second challenge, because at this particular moment he couldn't imagine missing anything more than Hermione. Ever.

He looked down at himself in the water and murmured, "He got it wrong Mione, it was you. It had to be."

Harry looked over to Ron, and managed to produce a painful excuse of a smile. Standing up he walked over to the, now vertical, boy and grabbed his shoulders.

* * *

They looked at one another for what seemed like an eternity and then clutched one another with a vice. Each boy willing Hermione between their embrace and focusing only on the warmth of the other. Convincing themselves that they were really there; anchoring them to a hard, hateful reality. A reality that held only more sorrows for them.

* * *

On an upscale estate located in the south of France, the rain fell with a vengeance upon a sturdy window pane. Inside the window the elegant silhouette of a woman could be found looking into the fire place. Upon closer inspection, lines of age and strands of grey could be found on the petite figure, highlighted by the very fire that held her gaze. 

She could hear their cries, the voices couldn't rest. If she concentrated, even with her failing competence, she could make out their figures in her minds eye. The disturbance frightened them, and mortified her, but she was not able to cease the cries. She had forsworn interference long ago. She was now merely a cosmic joke to the Fates and the Gods above that had gifted her with this horrendous ability. Gods, she felt as if she could predict the very moment it all began.

Her solitude was interrupted by the click of the door closing. She heard footsteps approach her and did not bother to acknowledge the owner of the slow gait.

"Mother, dinner is ready."

She merely blinked and shook her head. Turning away the voices of the mourners. Easing the thoughts of their plight into her memory for closer inspection at a more opportune moment. She turned with a born grace and smiled most sweetly at her child, though it had been long since age had called her children, children.

She took the offered arm and swept from the room, leaving behind the danger and anarchy she could see coming. At least for the moment. Until it made sense.

* * *

She traced the scar tissue that had built up on her left hand. She could not recall for the life of her exactly how many times she had cut herself exactly. She was the last one left. The others were gone, and she remained with blue eyes that sparkled unwillingly and scar tissue.

Seven.

Maybe that was the number.

Her body ached from the shift of magic and the draining the spells had on her reserves. It took alot to maintain them, and if her strength failed her she would hear them, the voices.

She had disturbed them, the mourners. Oh Merlin. She would get no rest. No sleep for the wicked, and the good die young. She had died young, she was still dead. but then again, her existence wasn't good.

Maybe she had never existed at all. Creation is such a dirty word, so filthy with controversy and lies. All for nothing. She was nothing. A Puppet.

Yielding to her Master. Not yet.

But maybe by the eighth, ninth.

The voices would take her by then.

Maybe the puppet could come to life, she had once heard of such fairytales, and fairies existed. So why couldn't their tales? Simple. Complex. Painful.

They were all synonymous. So was she...or maybe it was superfluous. She couldn't be sure. The exact wording was lost, just like how many times she had cut her left hand.

It didn't really matter.

They would tell her tomorrow.


	5. How I Break Apart

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, it belongs to J.K. Rowling. I also do not claim the song lyrics below that (to me) exemplify the chapter conflict in the beginning, they belong to the band Red. And finally, I don't own the line in italics about sacrifice. I had an an epiphany and thought that my favorite line from _The Skeleton Key_ would fit the point perfectly._

* * *

**Harry Potter and the Daughter of the Veil**

_Chapter 5: Break Apart_

* * *

"_And this is where I lose myself when I keep running away from you_

_And this is who I am when, when I don't know myself anymore_

_And this is what I choose when it's all left up to me_...

"_And this is how I break apart when I finally hit the ground_

_And this is how it hurts when I pretend I don't feel any pain_

_And this is how I disappear when I throw myself away"_

-- **Red **"Breathe Into Me"

* * *

It had been nearly four months and she was tired of running. She didn't know who she was, but they told her who to be. Maybe that wouldn't be so bad? After all, she couldn't go back. Not now. The scar tissue had healed. 

It had taken fifteen tries, but she had done it. It wasn't much, but it was. Her purpose. So they said. Puppeteers. The sixteenth, the first, would bring someone along. She was created, in all its filthy connotations, to bring them. Or to let them go ahead.

She could do that.

No.

No more running.

Breathe. In. Breathe In.

She was hanging. Ready to snap and spare the thread. She had lost herself to herself. She had just plain lost. And yet, in all of her identity crisis induced madness, she knew. She could choose. She could choose? Choose.

Why not, she had done everything else. The knights weren't coming. They knew about her creation. Her scar tissue. How it healed. Damn. Maybe she couldn't go back after all. But could she still choose? Throw away the scattered pieces when she slammed down, and then pretend her choice heals more than scar tissue?

She could try.

For the knights that had forgotten. No.

Forsaken.

All for scar tissue.

Or the synonymous nature…..superfluous? Did it matter. No?

She was losing her insanity. Gaining a theory. Almost as good as an identity. Time to choose. Destiny or creation. Life or Death? Not necessarily in that order.

Maybe this identity crisis was really a Breath of Fate. She was the daughter of a forgotten deity in a sense. She didn't do the work of man, after all. So chosen. Her theory grew, took shape, and her thoughts became whole. Intelligent and complete notions began to plant her in herself. She recognized bits and pieces, tidbits and trifles.

She slowly grew in capacity. Channeling the reserves of her strength, she ignored the onslaught of voices as she rebuilt herself.

If they were right, the voices. She was a legend. Something she had never thought plausible, much like magic period. Her parents said it hadn't existed. No, not her parents. Yes, her parents.

Never mind. She had to focus. She couldn't let the voices over power her concentration. Step by Step. Inch by Inch. Stone by Stone. Walls were erected in her honor. Mental shields torn away. Fire possessed her spirit, newly fabricated from a snidget of a theory, which had been nearly as hard to catch as the metaphor implied. After all, she was no Seeker.

A typhoon rose and dove in the unwilling eyes that now felt right at home in her head. Ready to destroy the Puppeteer's choices. Prepared to wash away the scar tissue if she failed, not that she would.

Her legs grew from rope to root. She stood strong since the crisis. Since the fall. She could hit the ground running, and run away from her choices, but her strength made her stay. She had decided.

Air filled her lungs, which had been only filled with despair and desolation as of her re-creation into her. Oh, how sweet the air tasted. Saccharine. As if it were a piece of taffy, chewy and flexible.

Breathe. In. Breathe In.

Finally.

She was whole again.

For now at least.

No guarantees, no refund, no exchanges.

She woke the next morning. Mother dearest had entered with specific instructions. Get up. Get dressed. Hurry up. So, she deliberately took her time. She had it all figured out. She was in expendable. Priceless, worth her weight in everything and more. She was safe, physically. So when her slave driver threw a temper tantrum, she simply smirked. She had won, and hadn't even realized the victory. Now, she wondered where the hell her trophy was. She liked Gold. Made victory so much more like her air. Sweet, so sweet.

Today was the day, and she would succeed. No more scar tissue would taint her skin, permanently at least. She was ready. Let the games begin.

When she arrived in front of her sources' sire she stood with masked defiance in her mystic blue irises. Power she didn't know of rushed to her, strength to work around the voices, as if the victims of those in her visual range were fighting back. She smirked at the thought, not quite yet.

Instructions were given and threats thrown around, and then she was there. In front of it for the second time since the first time.

She grasped the ceremonial knife in her hand and spoke the incantation, emphasizing the final syllable with a decisive slice across her left palm.

She took a final breath and plunged the knife into the Veil, ripping the unrippable. As a soul splitting shredding resounded through the hollow chamber, she thrust the bloody appendage into the gaping hole. Her passport was accepted as she felt the roar of the wind and the pull of the voices. Blinking her eyes once, twice she entered one then two feet into the now known unknown.

I was dark, and dreary. No surprise there. She looked for him. For her. For them. Anyone. She had made her choice, and there it was. Finally, she smiled and reached forward. Placing the ripped, hemorrhaging, limb on her victim's face. She blew the precious air from her lips and watched as the gust of blood and wind swirled one of the many voices away. Now, to get out of here. Before they figured out that she was successful.

No problem, the bastards.

* * *

Genevieve woke with a start. A smile crept across her face as she dissolved into sorrowful tears for the loss that had occurred. A voice had returned only to be replaced. A Sacrificial Lamb. She thought back on her mother's teachings: _"Genevieve, the thing most people don't know about sacrifice is, sometimes it's more of a trade."_

A trade that finally told her. Finally gave her fire and strength. She had somewhere to be. Someone to meet. Somewhere.

* * *

He woke with a heaving gasp. For the first time in a long time he took in a lungful of fresh air. He didn't understand, but once his senses recollected, he remembered. All of it. Merlin, he lived it. Well, sort of. A smile crept up into his eyes and manifested itself into a toothy grin. All of a sudden he realized that he had somewhere to be. But how would he get there? 

All of a sudden a loud 'pop' thundered in the reticent vicinity. His head swung towards the direction of the sounds origin to be met with a one time familiar face smiling at him with tears glistening in her mystic blue eyes. His answer had arrived.

* * *

She fell down. Vomit worked its way up from her churning stomach and found its compulsory exit through the orifice known as her mouth. The reality. Sacrifice. Oh how cruel the world of magic could be. The world could be. She felt the effects of her journey catch up to her, and after the aftershock of nausea and gravity bore down, she found herself flying three feet away from where she should have been. A sharp pain was felt in her chin as blood dribbled from her mouth. As she coughed, she expelled three teeth, now foreign appendages. She wiped the blood from her chin, though it still continued to pour despite her efforts, and tasted its metallic tinge as she licked her split lip. Pain. Everywhere was in pain. Even her hair hurt, if that was possible. She had taken enough. 

She blacked out.

* * *

It had been two months since Hermione's body was discovered. Christmas Holidays were steadily approaching, and Hogwarts walked on egg shells. Every occupant waited for the Golden Trio's remaining members to snap. Or at least speak. Not a word had been spoken by the emerald eyed hero or his strawberry sidekick. Save to one another, and the occasional comment to a fellow Weasley, which were few and far between. 

Teachers, ghosts, and pupils alike waited with baited breath. No one dared to attempt to make the two speak against their will. Even the Slytherins, with their horrid sense of decency and love of all things cruel, gave up on bothering their favorite targets. The boys were simply frightening in their intensity and eerie in their newly acquired, non-responsive natures. They were more often than not found in the deep recesses of the Library's Restricted Section at all hours of the night or day. Pass or no pass. No one dared ask what they were doing or what they found so enthralling in the depths of the ancient evil tomes; out of fear and pity. Pity was a powerful silencer. Pity infuriated the duo, so the fear was also just as powerful to mute the masses.

Not that the boys cared. No, caring was Hermione's forte. They were the troublemakers, the rule breakers. They were finally preparing to live up to their reputations.

Unforgivable Curses. That's what they practiced. Ancient magic that had long been forbidden by the Ministries of Magic in over twenty-five different countries worldwide for completely founded purposes became a new specialty of theirs. Their determination was as strong as their love for their lost triad. They would have their revenge. This war was no longer about blood purity, right, wrong, or any other frivolous excuse of a purpose. No, it was about revenge. Cold blooded revenge. For Lily and James Potter. For Cedric Diggory. For Frank and Alice Longbottom. For Hermione Granger. Nothing could mean more, and everything else was considered less.

Each breath was taken to bring them to their revenge. Sleep was forgone to study more methods of torture. Class was optional, but attended in case it should be helpful. Each boy sought a specific curse. So different, like its seeker. They were determined to discover it in the dusty texts, or invent it themselves if the need arose. They studied charm creation theory, potion methods, hex application, and curse construction. They had gotten to know more about the Dark Arts and the Forgotten Arts than most of the graduates of Hogwarts, including Slytherin, had known themselves.

Pain became a myth, a luxury that didn't exist. They used one another as test subjects, though they always employed an animal or other such creature for the more deadly or life-threatening curses. The Cruciatus was nothing to them any longer. A mere two months had changed them so deeply and irreversibly. They were at last everything that they had been called: reckless, foolish, dangerous, exhibiting psychotic behavior, and much more. They had felt and experienced, at their own hands, more in those two months than many seasoned Aurors, and probably knew twice as many forbidden spells, potions, and curses. Each day brought forth a new theory or lesson in pain and torture.

If you stepped back from the picture, they weren't themselves. They had become just what they wished to kill, but they didn't care. They sought a way to make them burn, to boil their adversary's blood with each heart beat; to numb them so deeply that it felt as if nothing would ever exist and they were driven to madness by their own devices in hopes of feeling something. Anything.

Their revenge drove them, and would do so until their demise. They had no plans to survive The End. They wanted nothing to do with the bleak, apathetic world that so greatly modeled their new attitudes. They would become the world itself, and then save its ungrateful, self-centered population one final time. Then they would abandon it. Leave it to its own devices. After all, if Hermione, the smartest witch since Rowena Ravenclaw could not survive a stint with the Death Eaters, they didn't have a chance. However, they'd be damned if they didn't take the bastards with them. They had accepted their ultimate fate, all that remained was to acquire the means to make their enemies do the same. Only time would tell.

* * *

When she woke she felt as if she had been run over by an enormous centaur herd. Her surroundings had altered drastically, and seemed oddly familiar. Sterile. Her eyes flickered. Opening and closing. A gruff moan managed to escape her parched, repaired lips. She struggled to right herself and was pushed down, mid-effort, by a surprisingly gentle hand. Her heart began to race in impending fear. What was going on? 

Her fears were quickly soothed by the most wonderful words anyone had ever said to her before.

"Relax darling, you're safe here at St. Mungo's. We've been taking very good care of you love."

Tears began to silently coast down her cheeks in glee. Safety. Amazing.

"Now," the voice, which she assumed belonged to an older woman, began, "I don't know if you remember Miss Felton, but you've been missing for over four months, not counting your month here. Why it's a miracle that you survived. An Auror came across you all bloodied up in the middle of a hallway at the Ministry. It appears you suffered……"

The woman continued on to tell her what she had already known. So she chose to focus on what was new information. Who was Miss Felton?

Better yet, who was she?

* * *

As he stood in front of the foreign location he watched as the charms his "tour guide" had told him about shifted to allow him entrance to the magical building. He walked over to the steps and took a deep breath. Placing his hand on the suddenly familiar knob, he gripped it with trepidation and exhaled as he turned it to the right and pushed the heavy door open. Stepping into the hallway, he shut the door behind him with discretion and crept down the entryway towards the voices that floated towards him. 

Reaching the room that housed the familiar and dear voices, he gathered his nerve and stepped into the room and observed long time friends while he searched for the only brother he had left, if what he had been told was accurate. No one noticed him, and he didn't simply wish to stand there and prolong the reunion. Taking his lower lip between his teeth, he gave off a nervous cough; gaining the looks of the rooms five occupants.

Not a sound was spoken. Not a breath taken in or expelled. Nothing.

Molly looked feint, and Kingsley had already fallen down into a seat with a great theatric. Nothing was said; until Remus entered the room from the opposite side and met the eyes of the newcomer.

"Moony…"

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_

_Chapter 5! I thought I had posted it a few hours ago, but it didn't take. Oh well. A few hours late is better than weeks. :)_

_I know that this is slightly confusing, but there's a reason for everything. Everything will make sense I promise; eventually. _

_Thank you all for your lovely reviews, and putting up with my inconsistancy and unigue chapter beginning. _

Amora de Bella

Amora de Bella


	6. Sixteen Going On Sixty

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and all associated characters, locations, et al. I also do not own the lyrics to "_Blow Me Away_", they belong to __**Breaking Benjamin**_

**

* * *

**

**Harry Potter and the Daughter of the Veil**

_Chapter 6: Sixteen Going On Sixty_

* * *

"_They fall in line_

_One at a time_

_Ready to play…_

…_Only the strongest will survive"_

**-- Breaking Benjamin **"Blow Me Away"

* * *

_Harry was falling apart. Everyone knew it, and went about comforting him in the most absurd way. He didn't need mollycoddling. Emphasis on the Molly part. Sometimes that woman was simply too much of a mother. Sirius was gone. The fact was simple; painful, but simple. _

_What Harry needed was an ultimatum, and Hermione was just the person to serve it to him. And if that didn't work; she could always threaten to recite __Hogwarts, A History__ to him. With his aversion to literature she didn't believe that tactic would fail, but she was a compassionate person and would spare him; should he cooperate. This had gone on long enough, and she was due to go back home for the remainder of the summer in a few days. So the time had come._

_Gathering the courage that landed her in the Lion's Den, she quickly decided that a dramatic entrance was perhaps the only way to procure his attention, and flung the door to his room at Grimmauld Place wide open with gusto. Stomping in with a fierce determination aflame in her honeyed eyes she began to speak, only to realize that he wasn't there. _

_Hermione stood there for a moment; mouth opened in a most unbecoming fashion, and gave off a shrill scream of frustration while flinging her petite frame on to the antique four poster bed. She lay there for a bit, face down in her best friends pillow, and wondered why she bothered helping these crazy boys. They were always late, even when they had nothing to be late too, and Harry was late for her scolding and firm ultimatum. _

_He just didn't know it. _

_Not that that was considered in her indignant state, mind you._

_She should get a medal for putting up with such frivolity. Order of Merlin, First Class. _

_Hearing the floor boards in the ancient house creak, she shot up from the bed and positioned herself at its edge; noting within the back of her mind that Harry's pillow had a lovely scent. _

* * *

_Harry smiled the first in a while. He had been standing behind the Gryffindor Golden Girl just as she entered his room, and seen the rather undignified display. He felt a light chuckle resound in his chest and decided to make his presence known, and find out what seemed to be plaguing the usually composed girl._

_He stepped into the room, trusting the tell-tale squeak of the floor to announce his arrival and watched the brightest witch in his year jump as if she were a piece of toast. To say he was entertained was a slight underestimation. He saw the look of determination in her eyes and sighed; leaning against the wall as she walked up to him. _

"_Harry I am going to talk and you are going to listen. No arguments, no rebuttal, and no vapid reaction. Or I swear on my Prefects badge that I will tie you to a chair and force you to listen to me read every textbook that I own and my light reading." _

_Harry's eyes widened a fraction at her threat and he brushed past her, knowing that not even Voldemort would stop her so he might as well get comfortable for the forthcoming tongue-lashing. _

"_Sirius is dead. I know how much this hurts you. How terrible you must feel. True, I can't feel your pain, but I do see it. Everyone can. But this little mourning session has to stop. Sirius would not have wanted this. He was all action, no rest. He died protecting you, and I know that makes you feel responsible, but I feel that he wouldn't have wanted it any other way. _

"_He loved you more than anyone, and would only ever want you to look back on him with fond memories and a light heart. Think of Remus; all of his best friends are gone, and he mourned this loss, but he knew when to move forward. He didn't fall apart. Quite honestly I am ashamed of you. Your behavior is not fit for a young man your age. Or your maturity level. However what frustrates me the most is also the most painful to me."_

_He watched, with mounting ire, as she paused in her monologue for a breath. His emerald eyes followed the line of her frame and landed on her hands. She was twiddling her fingers. Recognizing the sign of nervousness, he looked to her lips. She only ever worried her lip when she was truly unsure of herself. Sure enough her lower lip was moving violently between her top and bottom teeth. He knew that what she was about to say was rather hard for her, and his anger receded a bit. _

_She took a moment more, perhaps to gather more of that famous Gryffindor nerve, and began again. This time her tone was little more than a whisper; a striking comparison to her previous sharp pitch. _

"_You're doing it again. Hiding away from Ron and me. Not letting us help you, and you have that look in your eyes. The one that shows that you're going to do something completely ludicrous and leave us in the dark. It terrifies me. When are you going to accept that the three of us are in this together? We won't abandon you, and we don't want you to abandon us. Our friendship is unconditional and was once able to withstand anything, but you're killing it. _

"_Your mistrust of us, your friends, tears you further from us. Any more and you won't have anything to do with us, and that hurts. Knowing that we are so easily expendable. Now I'm sure you don't feel that way, but it feels like that at times. Like you don't trust us. And quite honestly, I came up here to give you something. An ultimatum."_

_Harry stood up, his stomach clenching in a truly painful way. His heart began to pound in a rapid fashion as Hermione seemed to lose her nerve and looked to the floor and studied her black sandals._

"_I don't speak for Ron, because though he feels as I do, I can't make his decisions. But I will speak for myself, and I hope that you listen. Harry, either you stop shutting us out and accept that you're not alone in this. Let us help you. Or you can forget about me until you decide that my friendship is valuable to you. _

"_I know that this seems rather odd; wanting you to talk, but refusing to do so unless you open up; but I can't deal with this shadow anymore. This boy isn't you. This boy isn't the boy I know and love, and I don't like him. Not at all. In fact I think that he is rather dreadful."_

_Harry stood with stricken expression on his face. He took a step towards his best friend and felt his heart skip a beat when she stepped back and looked up from her feet._

* * *

"_Summer started a week ago and you have been doing this all year; it only got worse after Sirius' death a month ago. And I think that you have had ample time to determine if you truly trust me and value my friendship. So, I expect an answer tonight, before I go home."_

_Hermione watched Harry's reaction to her sudden departure, and was not shocked the slightest at his confusion._

"_Home?"_

_She looked over to the doorframe at the empty hallway, and back to the man that stood before her. "I need to spend time with my parents, and should you continue to freeze me out I need time to recover from that. Perhaps this will be good for us. Actually, you don't have to give me answer until I return, or at all if that becomes the case."_

_She took two steps toward him and placed her left hand on his upper arm, squeezing gently. _

"_But I do want you to know that even if you choose to forget about me, I will still be there when the time comes. Even if you don't feel the same; you're still my best friend and I love you." _

_With one final squeeze to his arm she rose up on her toes and placed a kiss on the corner of his mouth. A simple action that she had done thousands of times. To both boys, as they were so close. However, this time something was different. She felt a strange emotion in the pit of her stomach and a deep sorrow. Perhaps she was sad that she might never have her best friend back? _

_She lowered herself and began to walk away only to be stopped. Harry had grabbed her hand. She turned on the heel of her foot and looked up at him; her eyes mirroring the sorrow that she saw in his and smiled. _

"_Goodbye Harry." _

* * *

Harry felt ill. He hadn't the foggiest idea as to why he had come. He had refused before, when it was put together, and then when it was finished. He stood firm in his resolve to stay away, but here he was. 

He had avoided Hogsmeade for the past few months, choosing to stay with Ron in the library. Choosing to dedicate himself to his task. His bloody destiny. Literally. Ironic.

Yet here he stood. At her statue.

For a moment he thought his illness was due to more sorrow, but then he remembered that he was burning already, and the blaze intensified with each heartbeat. Then he realized why he felt as if he had the mumps. The damned statue. They couldn't just let her rest in peace, in the ground. No, they had to make some insane statue and place her in it. He wanted to know whose idea it was, and then give them a swift kick in the arse. And everywhere else.

This was a mockery of his best friend, and she was probably rolling in her grave. He laughed at that thought. She couldn't; she didn't have a grave. She was locked in a damn statue. Ridiculous.

But this is where she was, and for the past four months he had a tear in his soul. He needed to tell her. It killed him that she most likely died not knowing he was sorry, and thinking that he wanted nothing to do with her. Gods. If only he hadn't relied on her coming back to him.

A tear rolled down his face, the first in a while, quickly followed by the second, but he didn't continue. He didn't let go. He truly was a mess. Harry Potter: The-Boy-Who-Couldn't–Stop-Crying. Voldemort was probably shaking in his robes right about now and letting out a shrill girlish scream. Oh yes, he was so scary right now. It was pathetic.

He waited until the two tears he shed had rolled into hiding under his cloak and then proceeded to step closer to the wretched mausoleum the ministry had the kindness of creating. He placed his hand on her shoulder, well the statue's shoulder, and hugged her. Even though the statue stood in plain sight in the center of town. Once he had the bronze likeness in his arms he sighed and stepped back.

He stood over the polished frame of Hermione and looked down into the circles meant for eyes. Nothing. Like a fool he had hoped that holding the statue, her body being inside, would give him some peace. All he felt was empty. Filled with that same lava in his veins.

Beat.

Burn.

Beat. Burn.

He felt lost. No, he was lost. The last time he had spoken to her was a tense conversation that ended in her leaving on bad terms. She had wanted him to open up, and when he was ready. When he desperately wanted to pour his burning heart out to someone; she was gone. Ron was not an option. They didn't talk about Hermione. Spells, hexes, strategy. That was the majority of their conversation. They looked out for one another and discussed other things than The End, but Hermione was off limits.

And so he had come here, hoping to pour his soul out to Hermione, but it felt wrong. It felt as if she wasn't there. Perhaps she was so embarrassed about the monument that she just never looked in on it. He heard heaven was nice, maybe she was reading. He didn't know what she was doing, but he knew that she was in heaven, or wherever the hell the good go; pardon the pun. Because she was the best, and she was always at the top. In everything. He smiled, well as much of a smile as he could manage it resembled a grimace more than anything, but it was the closest reaction to anything that he had had in months.

Christmas Holidays were merely a week away, and he was planning on spending it at the "Noble House of Black". He was positive that the library in that wicked house would have something useful. If not, he might just set it on fire. Though only the dark books, or maybe just the bookshelves, because Hermione would never approve of him mistreating books. However, he doubted that anyone would let either Ron or him work. He was positive that the twins and Ginny or perhaps some other Order member had reported their sporadic attendance and new hobbies, what they knew about them.

Truth be told. He didn't even think that it mattered. Christmas just wasn't Christmas without his family, and Hermione was his family.

Part of it.

A big part.

Deciding that he had had enough of this damned statue, as he couldn't really feel her in it he decided to go to a place she loved at Hogwarts, and hopefully he would be more open to talking there.

He walked, at a brisk pace, back to the castle and veered towards the lake. Stopping just short of the lake, he took a seat under the tree that had been beloved by his friend. Leaning back against the hard, grainy surface he looked up at the sky and drew in a breath.

"I never meant to freeze you out Hermione. I hope you know that; wherever you are. I hope you know that I'm not going to rest until this is over. I'm doing this for you. For you. My mum and dad. Sirius. The Longbottoms. Those other girls they killed. Cedric. Everyone.

"But the thing is; strange as it seems, the more I work and push to be ready, the more I realize that I really am doing this mostly for you. Knowing that this was important to you make me even more determined to defeat him. Even though he killed my parents, and his followers took Sirius, and Wormtail killed Cedric, I just keep thinking of you and how much this meant to you. I think I'm going mad, but I don't care."

He looked down to his hands, and saw that he was twiddling his fingers. Just like Hermione. Suppressing a sob he took a moment to collect himself and; determined to finish; he looked out over the placid waters of the Great Lake.

"I hurt every day. All day. I keep expecting you to just show up at the Great Hall or to walk into the Common Room. To be in the Library. Then I remember that fate isn't that kind to me. That wicked bitch enjoys nothing more than rubbing salt in my wounds. I mean damn! I had to suffer your disappearance once and thinking that maybe you were dead, and just when I could breathe again without crying. Just when I start to think positive and get into finding you, saving you. You- I…"

Feeling an emotion greater than his wills emerge, Harry's head dropped back onto the cool bark and he let go. He cried for the things he felt, the things he could never say. The things he was just figuring out. Those hurt the most.

"You died on me damn it. What in the bloody hell am I supposed to do without you! Ron and I, we're just not the same. He suffers to, but- Merlin – I don't think I can do this. I don't understand this, this hollow feeling. This need to follow you. Wherever you are.

"I don't know what is happening to me. I feel as if I'm empty and wasting words on meaningless attempts. I can't describe this feeling, but you'd be able to for me."

He laughed bitterly.

"Then again. If you were still here I wouldn't be feeling this. I wouldn't be cursing either. We wouldn't be hurting; Ron and me. I just, I miss you. I keep thinking back to fourth year. The Triwizard Tournament's second task. _Most prized possession._ Maybe Dumbledore got it wrong, because right now I would trade anything to just hug you or see you one last time. I would do anything. Anything."

After his tears calmed down and he had ceased with his dry sobs, Harry composed himself. He stood up and dust the dirt from his trousers and looked up at the sky once again. As he gazed up he smiled, a true smile though bittersweet, as Fawkes flew in his line of vision. A Phoenix. If only humans had a chance at new life.

* * *

A mere two seconds had passed before Remus had drawn his wand, and the rest of the room followed with a surprising haste. The newcomer looked at him and smiled only to address him. 

"I see you're still as sharp and quick as ever my friend."

Remus felt his body run hot and cold at the man's voice. His inner beast was enraged, and his human side was in absolute agreement.

"Who the hell are you?" he growled, amazed that his voice came out so strong; as he felt so weak.

"Moony, I"

"Shut it you bastard! Where did you learn that name? Where did you get the hair for the Polyjuice?"

Remus advanced on the man before him. Gasping his arm, he dug his wand into the man's jugular; a fierceness in his eye and his body language that shocked all present. Though with the new arrival, it was amazing that they could still be shocked.

"Polyjuice? Remus, I couldn't make Polyjuice if my life depended on it. You know that. What the hell is your problem? If I remember I was there when you got the bloody name Moony!"

"I should just kill you now you sick son of a bitch. Or even better take a page out of Greyback's book and kill you when I turn, but I am gonna hold your ass down until you fucking change back into who you are. Then I will kill you slowly and painfully."

"Remus, please."

A light voice interrupted the squabble.

"He doesn't know."

All of the rooms occupants, save Remus, turned to see the new intruder and jaws continued to drop. They watched as she walked over to Remus and placed her hand on his shoulder in a calming manner.

"Remus, dear, look at me."

As he focused, Remus went pale, he knew that voice. Before he could respond he was cut off, by Dumbledore.

"Hello, Genevieve, it has been quite some time my friend. Too long."

Remus loosened his grip on the intruder and turned to the elderly woman on his left, his angered form slowly relaxed as she pried his arms and wand away from the man in his grip.

"Honestly Remus, you know what my family is capable of. Why does this shock you? He is who he claims to be dear."

Remus looked over to the man he had nearly killed and back to Dumbledore and Genevieve for reassurance. He felt as if the world were being thrown off axis. This was insane, and so wonderful. Yet, even as tears of joy clogged his eyes, he could hardly believe it.

* * *

Andrea Felton was bored. She was so bored, she contemplated simply jumping out of her bedside window for a thrill. She had been awake for two weeks, and there were only so many questions and tests that she could take before she snapped. 

Amnesia sucked, quite honestly. Well it wouldn't be so bad if she actually had amnesia instead of a memory block. Damn magic.

She remembered being beaten, she remembered the ritual, the scars, the pain of the abuse, but not much else. No faces of her attackers. No memories of what she did after or before the rituals and the abuse. She couldn't even remember her parents.

There was one thing she did remember though. A name, and she knew it wasn't hers. For some reason it terrified her, she was driven to tears when she thought on it.

Danielle.

She didn't understand. Anything. All because of the lovely memory block that some wonderful, kind, sweet, horrible person put on her. And to top it all off; she was bored!

Apparently, the Death Eaters had killed her parents just like they had killed the parents of all the other girls she had seen. Bastards. So she was to stay here until she could be taken in by someone, and until she had been cleared. The Mediwitches and Mediwizards feared some kind of extensive psychological trauma.

She didn't subscribe to that particular theory. For one simple reason. She couldn't remember a damn thing! Merlin, these people were mental, and yet she was in the psychological ward. Not that she was crazy.

After she had woken up and tested clean for curse, hex, and physical damage; they escorted her over to the psychological ward for a mental evaluation, and to uncover any repressed trauma. Once again, pointless. She wasn't even able to tell you what in the world her favorite color was. Let alone who attacked her.

She would still like to know who Danielle was, and why she was so terrified of her. Another thing. She couldn't look in a mirror. She would wind up in a panic attack and need a calming draught to breathe again. Her eyes frightened her. For some reason she was also terrified of the color blue. They had given her a charmed set of glasses that made everything blue look a different color, except her eyes. Just her luck.

Now that she thought about it. She was terrified of a name and a color. Maybe she was crazy. That was comforting. Almost as comforting as the nurse on duty. Her name was Danielle, and she always wore a horrid head piece; like an old fashioned muggle doctor, and Andrea would see her reflection in the round metal disc every time. It's a good thing that they kept the calming draughts on hand in her suite or she would have hyperventilated long ago.

* * *

Alastor Moody had been an auror for many decades. He had seen many torture scenes, death, two wars, and countless other such horrifying things. Over the years he had become desensitized to it all. It became tolerable. Then the years went along by and he was overcome with a terrible sense of paranoia. His motto _Constant Vigilance_ became more of a personal anthem. 

He grew uneasy and excitable, paranoid and a bit unstable, but he had never gotten back his shock factor. Until now.

Before his eyes stood someone who should have been dead. When the man walked through the doorway, he was so shocked that he didn't even draw his wand. He, _Alastor Moody, _did not draw a wand. Then the reality set in. Like Lupin; his first instinct was Polyjuice Potion. That damned stuff was way more trouble than it was worth. Perhaps he was a bit bitter, but he _had_ been locked in a trunk for some sick filthy Death Eater to impersonate him with the foul concoction.

Then the man had some intimate memories of the person he claimed to be, and Alastor got even more suspicious. After all, his anthem was _Constant Vigilance. _Maybe if they had been listening to him, the Granger girl wouldn't be trapped in that infernal overgrown knut, but that was just his opinion.

As Lupin attacked the intruder, he stood by with an eager gleam in his eyes. He wanted desperately to know which filthy Death Eater this one was. Probably a member of the ever popular; _Noble_ House of Black, and they called him crazy. That lot had him beat by a few marbles.

He was prepared to stand behind the enraged werewolf, and then he fond himself shocked once more. Genevieve Dupree. The world was flat. At that moment, he'd believe it. He had no doubt that it was truly her, no one alive could imitate that air that had always been about Genevieve. Or those damned eyes. They say that even Polyjuice Potion could not recreate the Dupree eyes.

After Madame Dupree made her dramatic appearance, though not as dramatic as her announcement, Albus Dumbledore confirmed it. For a moment he wondered if he actually had a bad ear, not a missing eye. Because what he had heard could not really be what he was looking at.

James Potter was alive.

* * *

She was going to throttle and then murder him, or she would if it were her place. He just wouldn't let it die, literally. And now he had her. Jade. Little Jade, so tiny and sweet. Though she couldn't be tiny any longer she was Michael's age, and _he_ would demolish any sweet remains. Tom Riddle. Dear old dad. 

Of course she couldn't forget her baby sister. Danielle. Oh, what she wouldn't do to that nitwit. If Damien didn't get to her first. Or Remus, as Sirius was no longer around. Everything was her fault, the evil conniving spoiled brat. The one who broke her mother's heart and ripped a man in two.

"Watch out baby sister, I have been waiting almost sixteen years to send you through. If she swears the oath, may Circe spare you. For I know of no one else who will."

Having made the promise to herself and to an absent Danielle, Dianne apparated with a resounding 'pop', appearing in the darkness of an alley in muggle London.

"Are you ready?"

She turned sharply, her hand grasping her concealed wand as she moved into an attack position, only to let out a sigh of exasperation upon recognizing the man before her.

"A little warning would be much appreciated Damien," she chastised him as she placed her wand back into its writs holster.

"Yes, but where's the fun it that?" he said. Not a trace of emotion could be seen across his shadowed features.

As he stepped into the light cast by the lamps now lit along the street a frown was able to be seen on his lips. He gave off the impression of a very dour and severe person, and if you asked Dianne she would smile and state that he was simply a very quiet man by nature. He preferred books to mindless chatter and intelligent conversation was the only kind that he tolerated. All-in-all, he was the epitome of his House; Ravenclaw.

She herself, had been a Gryffindor. A social butterfly, and had lived to epitomize her house as well. If she looked back, it was truly only natural that she shared a certain animosity with her sister. Slytherin and Gryffindor just don't mix. Not during a blood war. Perhaps they never would.

"When you decide to pull yourself away from your dream world, I believe we have somewhere to be" her companion reminded her with a tone of annoyance.

"All right Damien, keep your knickers on baby brother. Let's go"

As they walked along the street towards their past, Damien looked over and down at his sister and asked what had distracted her earlier.

"Just thinking about Hogwarts, and how Gryffindor and Slytherin do not belong together."

"Rather pessimistic view point, no?"

"No, realism, never trust a snake. They bite, and the poison is deadly."

Dianne looked over to her brother after she finished her thought and stopped walking. They had arrived at their destination.

"Are you ready to wake the dead?" she asked him with a smile on her face.

Her brother looked down at her to met identical mystic iris'. A smirk, betraying his mixed House heritage, worked its way across his features as he replied; "But you forget Dianne, we were born without that power."

* * *

Ron was sore. Harry and he had been practicing offensive spells in the Forbidden Forest last night, just on the outskirts at first and then it had escalated. They had landed themselves detention from Snape for skiving off too many classes, and had to serve it gathering the loose weeds at the edge of the Forest, even though there was no obvious or even hidden purpose, other than torture. They had wound up going further and further into the darkness, and when they realized they had journeyed so far, they simply carried on until their bodies protested any more fighting. 

Upon exiting the Forest, Professor Dumbledore was waiting for them with a pensive yet eerily threatening stare. He had heard some of the spells that they had performed. The period of their lives where the Professors looked the other way out of pity was over. Dumbledore was furious, and had told Molly exactly what the boys had been up to recently.

He sat in the compartment on the Hogwarts Express and moaned, and it wasn't from the pain. His mum was going to slaughter him, but did it really matter? She never understood. She wouldn't let go. This was a different time, and a different war. In a way, it was a Children's Crusade. Adults were essentially the backup. The forerunners in The End were two teenage boys who only fight for the other child who should have been with them. Molly couldn't keep him from losing his innocence and she couldn't be angered that he was learning these spells, because what Death Eater would show mercy because he was only sixteen?

War did not work that way. The train pulled into the station and he could hear the clamoring of other students rushing off to their parents and their holiday. Ron made a decision. He would stand up to his mum. Let her know that this was not her battle. Not her war. It was Harry's and His and Hermione's. It was Neville's and Ginny's. It was a Children's War, but they couldn't afford to think like children. They had to out think those who had been alive for decades. They were sixteen going on sixty.

* * *

Mrs. Weasley had been quiet the entire way to the Order Headquarters. Harry felt uneasy. She knew about their spell practice, and nothing. Molly Weasley was never known for her discretion, he was afraid. 

A sick part of him thought maybe Hermione died again. Third time's the charm and all. Then they got to the house, and were met with nearly the entire Order of the Phoenix. Harry looked over at Ron and saw agreement; they would stand firm. They would not be punished for preparing themselves. No apologies, unless it was from a Death Eater, and that still might not matter.

Harry looked over at Dumbledore's somber face and was directed to a couch with Ron, and as he sat the room seemed to take on a timid air. Anxiety was coursing through the inhabitants of Grimmauld Place like the plague.

He looked around and jumped out of his seat at the sight of an older woman. Her eyes.

_"Now I will ask you once again; will you submit yourself to the service of the Dark Lord? Will you give yourself mind, body, soul, and magic up to the greatest wizard of all time?"_

_"The Mark was on her _right_ arm you said?"_

_"She had the most...intense eyes I had ever seen"_

_"Danielle Riddle, the youngest daughter from the imprisonment and repeated rape of Genevieve Dupree by Tom Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort"_

His dream. Sirius' daughter. He had forgotten. The woman's eyes, they were exactly like the other woman's; Danielle.

"What is going on?" he inquired with trepidation.

"Harry, we have a story to tell you about a recent event. A rather remarkable happening has occurred. Genevieve Dupree has come to inform us all of a great deal of information and of a possible difficulty for the Order."

Harry looked over at the woman who, from a simple look, was obviously the antithesis of her daughter. Her eyes shone silver with mirth, and perhaps sadness. She took in a quick glance around the room and finally stood and moved towards the fire. Turning towards the room full of mismatched rights activists she began.

"What do any of you know about the Veil in the Department of Mysteries?"

* * *

Author's Note

**And that is it for this chapter. Next chapter is the explanation and more on Voldie.**

**Please read and review, they make me smile.**

**Thank you.**

Amora de Bella

* * *


	7. Discovering the Dead

* * *

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and all associated characters, locations, et al._

**AN: **Oh I am so sorry for how long this took. I know that if any of you are still interested in this story I am lucky, but so many things have been going on lately. I lost my beta (still don't have one actually so forgive me of all the typos), my sister had a baby prematurely and so well, long story short. Family took precedence. But I promise that everything's good now so I can focus on this. Ok, well I'll stop talking now.

**Harry Potter and the Daughter of the Veil**

_Chapter 7: Discovering the Dead_

* * *

"…_We all flirt with the tiniest notion_

_Of self conclusion in one simplified motion_

_You see the trick is that you're never supposed act on it_

_No matter how unbearable this misery gets…"_

--**The Spill Canvas **"Self-Conclusion"

* * *

For the three weeks that she had been trapped in that god-forsaken room she had felt called here. And here she stood. From the moment she arrived she was overwhelmed with a bittersweet sense of clarity. Upon entering the, surprisingly sparse, chamber she had been struck by a thousand memories, actions, and faces. Some were even those of the voices. The ones that had led her here.

Their incessant, unintelligible murmur just would not cease. Thousands spoke, to say nothing and to remain unheard. They seemed to only exist to drive her further into madness. So she simply let them guide her along the way. Somehow she had known to come here; she had known that this would be the right place.

So here she stood, with a mass of bravery she shouldn't have. Andrea was after all, a Ravenclaw.

She looked at her left hand and grimaced. The pain would be certain, but as she now knew, it was nothing she had not felt many moments before. It was a righteous reason to inflict the travesty, and as a should-be Ravenclaw she knew that it was logic that reigned supreme. With that in mind she began the rite.

She closed her eyes and visualized the gilded knife in her hand; opening her eyes once she felt its weight in her palms. She took a moment to study its handle and traced the Runes upon it with scholastic interest. Shaking her head, she took a firm stance and took in a shallow breath only to exhale in a sharp hiss as the silver blade drew across her, once healed, skin.

As the knife passed, a ribbon of blood began to follow in its wake and find its way down her wrist to drip upon the floor in sporadic patterns. After cutting herself from the base of her index finger to the heel of her hand, she balled the wounded appendage into a tight fist and took two steps toward the only visible portion of the Veil. As she stood on its threshold she took an unnecessary pause, waiting for something that had not arrived, and focused on her task once more.

She twirled the knife in a circular motion as she stared at the translucent cloth-like apparition. Hearing a noise off in the distance, she snapped her wrist to her side and gathered herself to her full height. A shiver ran through her petite frame and as she braced herself for the second stage in the Ritual.

Taking in a deep breath she began a spell that had been written by Circe herself, a spell that had never been uttered as much by one person as it had been by her, though these facts were unknown to her. Nearing the end of the incantation, she felt the air pulse with magic, and raised the hand holding the knife. Upon the final syllable she reached to slice her hand once more, but stopped short as she remembered the free flowing blood making its way down her forearm and onto her slippers.

With an enormous force, she plunged the knife into the Veil, ripping the unrippable once more, and tore down. She felt the raging wind expel from the airless void and quickly thrust her hand through the Veil, praying to anything that would listen for success. Feeling the pull to enter once more, she allowed a rare smile to cross her features and moved to step into the slit she had created.

Her foot was half way into the tear when she heard a sound behind her. Her head jerked towards the sound and fear began to claw at her heart as her stomach threatened to drop onto the floor. Blurry images began to surround her and take shape. She held her breath until they focused; her feet poised to jump in if necessary. The first blur took shape and her hearts insane pounding stopped.

She turned to jump into the Veil only to be pulled back by strong arms around her middle. Fearing for her life she called for the knife and attempted to sink it into her attacker's hands, only to have him mutter soothing words into her ear.

Feeling an unusual calm, and sensing that no harm would come to her, she began to breathe as the larger frame let go of her. She turned to look at the new occupants, knife still in hand.

There were three, two women and a man, standing before her. The women were similar in height with only a few millimeters difference between them. Age was perhaps the most significant difference. There appeared to be a good twenty years between the two elegant women, but other than that; they were practically identical. The man, a good head over the both of them, must have been of some relation.

Though they were beautiful in a regal manner, nothing seemed too terribly outstanding about them. The women had locks of honeyed brown curls that, in the elder's case, were streaked with grey, and the man bore a handsome cut of deep brown on his head. No, they were rather beautiful but ordinary nonetheless. Except for their eyes. Their eyes made her ache in the very marrow of her bones and made her raise the knife in her hand just a smidgen higher.

The elder woman smiled at her in a mournful way and took a few steps towards her. Always on the look out, she quickly took steps away from the woman and raised the knife toward her heart.

"Who are you? What do you want?" she commanded in a surprisingly steady voice.

The woman before her tilted her head to the right and reached into her robes to remove a lovely linen handkerchief to pat her watery blue eyes with. "My dear, we would never wish you any harm. However, if you do not lower that knife _ma petite_ I shall be forced to call it to me."

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion at the woman's claim. "Go ahead. If you think you can."

She looked down after feeling a strange sensation only to find that the beautiful knife was no longer in her hands. Looking up, she let out a gasp of shock at finding it nestled in the grasp of the older woman, she panicked. Her breath began to speed up to a frightening pace; she wrapped her hands around her body and began to look for a way out.

"We're not her. We're not like her."

Hearing the man speak in such decisive terms, she turned to look at him. He stood with his arms crossed in a nonchalant manner and a solemn look on his sharp features. His dour attitude would have seemed intimidating had it not been for the slight gleam of happiness and remorse that made his eyes look lovely and serene; rather than terrifying. He was the one that had pulled her from the Veil.

She trusted him.

She wasn't sure why, but she did.

Looking at the three of them she was struck by the sense of safety that overcame her when she looked into their eyes. Fear should have overwhelmed her, but she felt at ease. They would let nothing happen to her. She could feel it.

All of a sudden she felt everything catch up to her. The memories, the past, and the very present simply crushed her. She fell to the ground in a sudden lapse of strength and a flood of tears, but before she reached the hard, cold floor she was caught by the younger woman. They went down together. One sobbing uncontrollably, the other whispering words of comfort as she and her companions closed their watery eyes in thanks to the gods above.

* * *

The dead had always been there; in the back of her mind, though inconsistent and incoherent. It wasn't until her beloved daughter had died that she had wanted to understand it.

Arabala's death had driven her to a madness of sorts. An insane need to unlock the mysteries of the voices had overtaken her life and her magic. Day and night was spent trying to make contact with the murmurs; if only to see if they were real.

To assure herself that madness had not taken her into oblivion.

And then, she made contact.

She had stumbled upon an old text of Avalon, an ancient tale of the impossible.

However, as she quickly learned; the impossible was anything but.

Ancients had once told of a veil that surrounded all life, a Veil of Death. It shrouded all living things and surrounded them from beginning to end. Within this fabled veil resided the dead.

It was said that Hades; Lord of the Underworld, had fertilized the womb of a mortal woman, and from this intercourse there was born a sensitive. A woman-child able to feel the dead; to hear the murmurs of their cries and...

To bring them back.

And so she studied and she succeeded in revealing a small portion of the unseen Veil, and one night after much pain and blood, she entered.

The land of death was dank and dark, but in it she found light; her daughter's soul had not passed on to Elysium Field. She could be saved. Circe took the blood from her hand and the breath from her soul and breathed life into her progeny, but at a price.

As her sweet girl passed through the dominion of Death she attempted to follow, but was grasped by the minions of the Underworld. A life for a life. _Death would have no master_.

And so Circe would stay within the confines of the Veil, and as her daughter grew she waited within. Arabala would go on to practice the rite, but never complete the task. As would her daughter and so on until the ages of the world had changed to an era where no one thought of the Gods of old. A time where the tales of Avalon would be forgotten and the piece of the Veil brought forward would remain shrouded in mystery; just as it shrouded the living.

* * *

Harry sat; enchanted by the story that Madame Dupree had spun. Amazement washed over him as he pondered the possibilities that were open to the world. And then she killed every hope.

"I've never been able to retrieve a soul from the Shroud,"

With those words, Harry felt his future fade away into a sea of grey. Empty.

Meaningless.

As he sat, surrendering once more to his misery and emotional prison, the room grew silent. A cold, prophetic feeling flooded him. Something was about to happen.

The fire in his veins sped up as he saw his fellow soldiers looking at him, waiting for something he was in the dark about. He looked at Ron, his expression confused, and saw that the copper-headed boy was fixated on a spot just beyond the Boy-Who-Lived with a stunned expression on his face.

Harry turned his head with the slowest movement his body could tolerate, and as he shifted his body to face the cause of the chilly silence he heard Madame Dupree speak, "but that doesn't mean that it has never been done."

* * *

James was stunned. Those eyes.

Lilly.

No. Harry.

Baby Harry. Not a baby.

He saw his son turn slowly as Genevieve said that the impossible was in fact a lie, and watched as he focused his emerald eyes on him.

He stood by as everything was explained to Harry, and for the first time in fifteen years, he held his son.

What he wouldn't give to stay in this moment for ever. But that was not to be.

Genevieve started, a look of pure shock washed over her features as she grabbed the attention of her two children. Dianne and Damien. They were leaving.

Something was happening.

James knew that they would not be stopped, and judging from the murderous look on Dianne's face, he wouldn't want to. So he stood there holding his son. Tears in his eyes and a burning love in his heart. All while watching the family leave.

* * *

He felt the danger before it arrived. _They_ were coming. Positive that they would be outnumbered, he muttered a quick spell for help and moved in closer to his family. Determined to protect what had been lost for so long with his life. Suddenly, figures swooped in with a great gust of wind and power. His sister jumped into a defensive stance behind him and he could sense her wand being drawn as he heard his mother rise. They stood, ready to fight.

The apparitions finally took shape and he stood firm, digging his heels into the ground as he heard Dianne release a harsh growl from her lips. The Lioness in her was ready to lunge.

Danielle was among the group.

They all stood quiet for what seemed like an eternity and then it began. Curses and hexes flew with precision and startling accuracy. However, the Death Eaters had underestimated their ability to survive. They had had years of practice.

He had been in a staring match with Rodolphus LeStrange for a good five minutes when he heard it. The sound reverberated throughout the very marrow of his bones and struck the deepest reach of his soul. Adrenaline rushed throughout his body as he threw a stunner at LeStrange and turned in a flash of terror.

Time seemed to instantly slow as he watched Danielle lunge for the slim frame that dove to the floor. He watched in frozen astonishment as the smaller reared her leg back and struck. A dull crack was heard in the stunned silence of the room as contact was made and the girl broke her source's arm.

Pride filled Damien with satisfaction as he watched his niece grasp the wand that had fallen to the ground and turn it on her tormentor.

Suddenly the room was alight with activity once more as more figures arrived amid those present. Death Eaters scrambled to protect themselves from the new arrivals and were quickly captured. And through the entire scene he stood still, watching two generations in his family stare one another down; both with a fire in their eyes that pulsated through the chamber.

Once the fray had calmed, all eyes turned once more to face the two figures that had not left his sight. A collective breath was drawn as his niece shifted to her feet and looked upon the face of her antagonist with revolution and a trace of fear.

* * *

She stood, and in the brief moment that followed as she stared at the woman with blue eyes, she gathered all of the courage Andrea could have never possessed and made her decision. She would make use of her newly acquired usual backbone. Counting to three in her head, she let a ghost of a smile show on her gaunt face and shocked all present with the volume of her resolution.

"_Crucio!"_

The sound of her opponents screams filled her body with a chill that she ignored; determined to make her scream until she bled.

Suddenly her concentration was broken as she was hauled back from her anger by a pair of sympathetic but firm arms.

She looked up, breaking the spell, and was met with a very welcome sight indeed. One that symbolized home or what home should have been. She heard as the multitude of enemies fled and saw her victim leave, but she no longer cared. She collapsed into the arms of her interrupter and sobbed once more, but this time in euphoria , as she glanced around the room and saw the most heart warming sight ever.

An elderly man stood, not far off, smiling at her with bright eyes that twinkled merrily. He knew. She could almost guarantee that he was the only one who did, but she felt the world grow a little bit brighter with the knowledge that someone knew.

She would be safe.

* * *

Albus watched on with a smile threatening his lips as the members of the Order tried to piece what he already knew together. Upon returning they found themselves perplexed.

After seeing the girl that his comrades had returned to Headquarters with; James had denied that she was the one who had so kindly returned him to the world of the living.

So fro the past three hours, as _Miss Felton_, rested they pondered over the location of the _real_ Miss Black.

Another hour passed and Albus grew tired of his game, feeling that the poor girl would wake soon he decided to take pity on the inhabitants of Grimmauld Place.

"There is no trick," he began. "She is indeed the young woman who pulled James from the Veil and was seen in Harry's dream."

Sensing the Potter men's protests he held up his hand and begged their silence.

"She is who we believed her to be, but she is also not the same person she is thought to be." He ended that particular statement with a very determined nod as his audience looked up at him with thoughts of insanity rambling through their heads for an immeasurable amount of a time.

He stood by the kitchen door for a long second and smiled as he said, "She is also not where we think she is, I believe the poor girl is trying to sneak past us and out the door."

As he finished his tattling he watched as Molly Weasley ran past him and grabbed the poor girl up as she chastised her for leaving "in her condition".

The poor girl. If he knew her, and he did, she was most likely trying to pull a "Reggie Perrin", as the muggles say. So he ratted her out. Pseudocide simply was not the answer to her problems. She had to face them.

After all, Headmaster or not he was by all characteristics a Gryffindor, and he would not be able to stomach a brave Lioness taking the easy way out. He had never had to push her before, but perhaps this ordeal made a drastic change to her nature. She had used an Unforgivable on another human after all, but perhaps the person on whom she used it deserved it. Who was he to judge? Her situation was unique, and heartbreaking. She needed her Pack.

He wouldn't let her be alone. Not when he could finally help her; help them.

As he stood he noticed that the room had grown quiet and had split their gazes between watching the young woman and him.

He focused his glazed expression onto her and gave her a smile of encouragement as he prepared himself for the outrage from the two Potter's and the Weasley's, perhaps Minerva as well, to his next comment.

"How are you feeling, Miss Granger?"

As the words left his mouth he watched as the room looked upon him with incredulous expressions. They couldn't believe he would say such things, especially before the boys.

Although James, not quite caught up, did not understand why his son looked enraged Albus watched as the remainder of the room looked ready to clean up after the two volatile boys.

And then she spoke.

"How did you know?" she whispered with amazement and awe coloring her words. "Until today, I didn't even know."

"Enough!" Ron shouted. "This is ridiculous, she is not Hermione. Why in the hell are you doing this? Is it because of the spells, the skipping classes? What!"

Damien Dupree rolled his eyes as the temperate boy took a heaving breath and Albus watched with thinly veiled amusement at how everyone was simply wrong; Damien would prove no different.

"He calls her Hermione because that is her name you moronic boy. It's been her name since birth. Hermione Jade Black, he doesn't mean to accuse her of being your dead friend he merely calls her by her true identity."

Albus watched the girl in question as Damien spoke and saw with painful clarity that she hadn't known. He watched as she ran over the conversation grasping for something to distract her, and as he saw her jaw set he frowned; realizing that she would avoid the discovery.

"Skipped classes." She whispered with a deadly tone. "Ronald Billius Weasley, what do you mean skipped classes!"

As she stood and stomped toward the taller figure, Albus watched as amazement washed over the faces of the twins. They knew.

"Spells. Ronald, what spells. Are you crazy!" She rounded on Harry. "And you, you were in on it too. Ugh! I can not believe the two of you, I am gone and you completely fall apart. What of there had been an attack? What would you have done then! Sleep the Death Eaters to death!"

Albus watched as she began to hold back tears, the reality of her recent past catching up to her again. Her safety now confirmed as she railed at the most important boys in her life.

"I was there! I know what they are capable of! And the two of you were _slacking off_! Oh, I can not even begin to think of how far behind you are, or the points you lost us. Or better yet, how close you came to expulsion!"

As she screamed the last bit, a light seemed to shine in the craniums of the two terrified young men as they realized where they had felt that particular terror before. The Headmaster of Hogwarts watched as they dove, from opposite ends, to the weeping girl on the hardwood floor.

* * *

He felt his head hit Ron's with a painful crash, but he ignored it. That pain was nothing to the euphoria that had washed over him as he finally realized what Dumbledore was saying. This was Hermione. _His Hermione._ Her rant on expulsion proved that.

She looked different, and she looked lost, but she was there.

As he reached her and clutched her to his chest, fighting his best mate for her, he kissed her on the top of the head and began to sob along with her.

* * *

Ron held onto his best mate and their best girl as they all sobbed with the majority of the room watching with confusion on their faces. They didn't know her like he did. Like Harry did.

They didn't know it.

But she was alive.

It was truly a day for miracles.

As he wept, Professor Dumbledore explained to the adults and tears began to flow all around as understanding took hold of everyone, he realized something. Dumbledore had said that she was Who they thought she was. They had never thought her to be Hermione. Well not Hermione Granger.

Realization spread over his face and terror took over his body again as he locked eyes with his Professor and found his fears confirmed. He jumped back and with an animalistic force pulled both of his mates from the floor and looked into the foreign eyes of his glamoured friend as he demanded an answer to his unasked question.

"Tell me I'm wrong. For once I want to be!"

As he watched the look of confusion flash across her face he felt relief flood him, and then she understood and shook her head.

"I'm sorry Ron. So, So sorry" She threw herself into Harry's chest and began to sob once more. Ron felt tears of sorrow clutch him in place of his joy and choked as he heard her beg his forgiveness.

"_Please, please forgive me."_

* * *

**Author's Note**

Alright, so I've already apologized and so I won't again. Just remember, it may seem like this is moving too quick, but there are many more things to come. This story is actually going to span sixth and seventh year and it's only Christmas Hols for 6th yr. I know I don't deserve it but if you review I would love you forever. Hehe.

More soon.

* * *

**Amora de Bella**


End file.
